


Happy Wholidays

by nocturneequuis



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, holiday drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneequuis/pseuds/nocturneequuis
Summary: A series of 24 drabbles and short fics celebrating the holidays, starring the Doctor (all of him), various companions and the enemies he's made along the way.





	1. Ding Dong Merrily On High

[~*~Ding Dong Merrily on High~*~ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6J_2tKCwu7)

 

"Do you know, I get rather irritated around Christmas," he said to the stone gargoyle who regarded him balefully.  
  
"Doctor!"   
  
"I'm not sure why. It's not as if anything particular goes along aside from all that shopping... Which I never do anyway."   
  
" _Doctor!_ "   
  
"I just get a little pinchy tightness about the shoulders that I just can't shake."   
  
" _ **Doc~ tor!**_ "   
  
" _What_  is it, Peri?" the Doctor said, turning to look at his companion who was being held aloft by a giant sentient robot bell with hands that was currently snoozing, it's great snores occasionally trembling along the platform on which they-- well mostly he, stood. He gestured to the gargoyle. "Can't you see I'm trying to have a conversation?"   
  
She braced herself on the robotic hand and gave him a  _look_  as to where he could put said conversation.   
  
"How much longer do I have to stay like this?" She said, struggling once more. "I can't feel my feet!"   
  
"Oh I'm sure they're fine. Anyway, like I said, just a few more hours and then it will be Christmas Day and the Bellarian will awaken on instinct. So just hang in there, Peri. You're doing fine."   
  
If looks could kill, he would have regenerated on the spot. After a moment she sagged with a great sigh, chin on her hands. He smiled sympathetically. This had not been in any of their plans. Well-- when was anything?   
  
He reached up as much as he could and patted the air near her shoe.   
  
"Don't worry, once you're free; Christmas in Paris in the Roaring Twenties."   
  
"I thought you said we were near Cardiff."   
  
"Which is even better!" the Doctor said, spreading his hands. "A Welsh Christmas! We could go to the Cardiff Christmas Market... if it's been invented yet." He was pretty sure it had. The '90s were a terrible mix of things and it was hard to get straight at the best of times.   
  
Only..., he thought, as he stared out on the soft blanketed white land, the sky thinning and lightening with the glinting morning, the stars shifting into hazy focus... the quaint cottages, the stone buildings, the lack of industry... he was starting to think this was more the 1820s.  
  
"Doctor..." said Peri suddenly, the faint seed of alarm in her voice. Though that's something she seemed to carry around with her always so he didn't give it more than a faint:   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"Is this... Bell thing..."   
  
"Bellarian."   
  
"Bellarian... What is it going to do when it wakes up?"   
  
"Well...ring I suppose. I shan't like to be anywhere near it in this old church. It'll shake it to pieces."   
  
He smiled. Then stared. Then frowned.   
  
"Doctor!" Peri said, now with considerable more alarm. He whirled to the giant thing, the robotic eyes starting to open, glinting with golden joy.   
  
"Hang tight, Peri!" He said, searching for his sonic screwdriver. "I've got just the --"   
  
"Doctor! Look out!" she screamed, but too late and he soon found himself in the Bellarian's other giant hand, his own trapped at his sides by a rather strong metal grip.   
  
"Oh no," Peri moaned.   
  
"Christmas," the Doctor said to the bemused gargoyle. "Not a fan." 


	2. O Come All Ye Faithful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has had quite enough of being grounded on Earth and doesn't intend to budge until he's gotten the demateralization circuit fixed.... Not even for the likes of Jo Grant.

[O Come All Ye Faithful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRqq5EeVpRo)

 

 

The Doctor hunched over the table, peering at the circuitry through the eyepiece. If he was right, and he suspected he was, the little gemstone no bigger than a grain of sand that he picked up from Corbund IV would be perfect to provide to complete the loop and provide the near alchemical reaction which would get the dematerialization circuit working again. Satisfied that the tiny circuit board he was working on was correct, he took a deep breath and lifted the gem from the dish with a pair of small tweezers, hearts picking up tempo. Carefully he fit it into place and then, ever so gently, turned on the power.

A faint pleasant hum filled the air as the loop was connected, just beyond the range of human hearing but well within his own. He smiled.

Then frowned as the hum grew shrill and shriller still. He reached for the power lever but the moment his finger touched it there was a pop from the circuit board, a tiny get of sparks and the unmistakable smell of spoiled eggs.

“Blast!” he snapped, the table vibrating slightly from the force of his fist. He pressed his fist to his lips, scowling at the small smoking ruin that represented weeks of work. Fortunately he had another gem, but only one more. If that didn’t work it would be another few months— or perhaps even years!—exiled on this planet, in this place. Of course he wasn’t completely exiled. Oh no. Not when they needed someone to be errand boy, meddling where they, looking down from their moral high ground, could not.

“You won’t keep me forever, you know,” he muttered, half to himself, plucking the circuit board out and seeing what he could salvage from it. One day he would be free to go when and where he pleased and it would be on his terms, not theirs. He wasn’t sure where he should like to go, but away from Earth for a start. Away from this tiny island and a group of hassling soldiers who needed him more than he needed them. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed them at all— Well—

But that was neither here nor there. He took another breath to calm himself. Irritation would only lead to mistakes and those he could not afford. Not if he wanted to get off this planet before everyone around him was old and gray. Head bent, he squinted around the eye piece once more and got to work. He preferred to be focused, so he ignored the light knock that sounded on the door some ten minutes later. He further ignored the sound of said door opening despite not having given leave to do so and hoped his preoccupied silence was enough to cause a retreat.

“Hem, _hem_ ,” said his visitor, who was apparently miserable at reading social cues. He glanced up, preparing to give them a withering look, but the wither died on the vine as he saw Jo standing there, smiling at him. He couldn’t help but wince a smile back.

“Well, hello, Jo.” He glanced out the window at the dark. “You’re a bit early.”

She laughed.

“I’m not early, silly, it’s nearly six o’clock.”

“My word, is it?” he said, faintly surprised, but then he caught sight of the circuit board once more which captured his attention.

“Mm,” she said.

“Well, in that case, you’re late,” He said, to tease her. “Honestly, though, don’t stay on my account. Go enjoy your date.” Since, in retrospect, he had noticed she was dressed nicer than usual today in a somewhat gaudy red shirt picked out with holly and a green skirt. There’d been a red silk scarf round her neck, too, and she was wearing makeup.

“It’s not a date, Doctor, it’s a party.”

“Oh is it?” He murmured, trying to wedge the crystal off the board, wondering if he could save it. It looked practically melted to the circuitry. He didn’t know these crystals had such a low flash point.

“A Christmas party,” she said.

“Fascinating.” He straightened, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, since you’re here, could you hand me the temporal…” he stopped as he saw the glazed look come to her eye. “It looks a bit like an egg timer, just there.”

“This?” she gestured.

“Yes, thank you.”

She handed it over and he took it from her, wondering if it needed to be recalibrated. The settings seemed to be alright, but he set it on the table and turned it on before searching is pockets for a tuning fork. He couldn’t help but be aware of Jo standing there still, watching him expectantly.

“Doctor…” she said. “Would you like to come?”

“Hmm, yes,” he said, finding the tuning fork in his inner breast pocket. “I mean no,” he said, her words catching up to him. “You wouldn’t want boring old me at a party with your friends.” And he wasn’t certain he wanted to be there either. He barely had anything in common with day to day humans let alone human youths with their strange hairstyles and stranger slang. Not his style at all.

“No,” she said with a laugh. “It’s an office Christmas party.”

“Certainly not,” he said with more conviction. “I see them more than I care to anyway and I’m sure they feel the same about me.” She opened her mouth but he held up a finger. “Quiet now, just for a moment.” She closed her mouth with a small smile and he gave her one in return before striking the tuning fork against the table and listening for the vibrations of the two instruments. No… It seemed perfectly fine, which meant the flaw lay either in the crystals or himself.

Drat.

“May I?” Jo said.

“Hm? Oh, yes, go ahead.” He tucked the tuning fork into his left pocket and peered at the crystal once more, rubbing his chin.

“It’s just for an hour or so,” she said. “And it might be fun. You never know. Anyway you’ve been cooped up in here for days.”

“Feels more like hours,” he said. And relatively unproductive ones at that. “In any case the more I work on this the sooner I’ll get it fixed. If you think the holidays on Earth are great, just wait until you see what they can do on the pleasure moon of Kibbkfetchtchum.”

“Sounds exciting, Doctor,” she said in that way she had which meant that it was interesting but she wasn’t terribly excited about it. He wished she’d show a little more oomph, honestly. He didn’t expect stars in her eyes or worshipful gazes but it would be nice if he felt she wanted to go as much as he did. “But for now, it’s not going to take much time just to come down for a little while.” She rested a hand on his forearm and said the most devastating word mankind had ever devised.

“Please?”

He sighed and patted her hand, knowing himself to be well and thoroughly trounced.

“Oh, very well, Jo. But for a few moments only. I really must get this done.”

She gave him a suspicious look and he tried to seem as honest as possible. Finally she said:

“See you there.” Almost like an order, before giving him a little wave and heading out the door.

He waved back and watched her go, relaxing when it didn’t seem she’d come right back and check on him.

Of course, he’d never specified _when_ he would arrive, he thought, looking at the circuit board. And a few moments near the end were a few moments regardless. The longer he stared the more he realized he was getting absolutely no work done and sighed, flipping it back on the table.

“Well, what’s a little Christmas,” he said to himself, getting up.

 

~*~*~*~

 

They were holding the party in a little used conference room and he could hear the music as he went, a song about stepping into Christmas barreling through the air. Though generally speaking he was fine with Christmas and familiar with it. It was difficult to be sequestered on Earth for any length of time without running into the holiday in one form or another, even if some of them were quite primitive. Susan had been quite fascinated with it, he thought, with a familiar pang pulling at his hearts— and had peppered Ian and Barbara with oh so many questions that were not easily answered. Or perhaps he hadn’t been interested in the answers at the time. And, to be honest, he wasn’t now. Oh it was fine to observe from a distance, but interacting within the holiday these days felt entirely too much like— well— going native.

Still… He adjusted the sprig of holly he’d pinned to the lapel of the red crushed velvet coat with the green trim… A few moments certainly wouldn’t hurt. Hands in his pockets he entered the conference room as casually and quietly as he could. The music was no less obnoxious inside, though at least the radio had moved to a more bearable: ‘White Christmas’. Fortunately also, the conference room was full of familiar, and semi-familiar and fairly new faces, but with a mix of ages that was a relief. No one a day over seventy-five, of course, but still leaning toward the mature.

Mostly mature, he ammended, watching Yates fairly giggle at a young fresh faced woman who was some sort of stenographer as far as the Doctor could recall. Jo was there as well, drinking champagne with Benton and he caught her eye enough to give them both a wave before slipping into the quietness at the back of the room, near the canapes. There was another face there he was less then happy to see, and made him debate his choice of lurking places. Too late, though, the Brigadier caught his arrival and gave him a half twitched smile over his glass mug, as if expecting some sort of sting.

The Doctor was happy to oblige him.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” the Doctor said, taking up a spot nearby and folding his arms, looking out at the others. “Doesn’t this count as fraternization?”

“It’s technically: ‘encouraging a sense of community and interdependence within and among the staff’,” said the Brigadier as if reading off the memo that was no doubt slipped over his desk. One that he wasn’t too pleased about given the recital of it. “But it’s also that time of year. This sort of thing is expected.”

“Mm, yes I can see the encouragement,” the Doctor said. “Lurking in the shadows. Silent as the grave. Astonishing Christmas spirit.”

“I could say the same for you,” said the Brigadier, nonplussed. “Didn’t expect you to be pulled away from your little project.”

“Little project?!” the Doctor said, bristling. Of all the—! “Just because it lends nothing whatever to your efforts to bully—”

“Help.”

“—the world doesn’t mean it’s not exceedingly intricate and worth while.”

The Brigadier said nothing to this and the Doctor became keenly aware that the conversation in the room had become muted somewhat and people were looking in their direction. Perhaps he’d been a bit loud. He huffed out a breath and rocked back on his heels. Honestly, what was it that Jo meant him to do here. Or, he thought, somewhat stung himself, was he just part of the Brigadier’s memo. No, Jo wouldn’t do that…

Would she?

She smiled at him and raised her glass in a salute and he smiled back.

No, of course she wouldn’t. Not sweet Jo. In a moment or two he would see if he could pull her away from young Benton’s elbow and perhaps, oh, he didn’t know; try to entertain her with a tale?

“Clearly I don’t understand what you’re working on,” said the Brigadier. The Doctor blew out a breath.

“Clearly.” And was going to say more but the man held up a hand.

“But I’m sure it’s just as ingenious as anything else you’ve worked on,” he said, giving the Doctor a look and extending his hand. “Truce?”

“Truce,” the Doctor said, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. There was a certain warmness when they broke apart. Not that he held any more love for the Brigadier than he had before, but a certain understanding perhaps.

“What the devil are you drinking anyway?” the Doctor asked after a moment as the Brigadier raised the glass mug to his lips.

“Mulled wine. There’s still some left if you’d care to try. It’s cooled down a little but it’s not too bad.”

“Why not,” said the Doctor. It would give him something to do with his hands if nothing else. Though upon tasting it found it to be quite good and a bit spiced in an odd but not terrible way. He winced as another terrible song came on the radio. Sentimental feeling indeed. Horrible feeling was more like it.

“Rubbish,” said the Brigadier, presumably about the song and the Doctor was tempted to turn his mind to liking it just to spite him. “No escape from it at home, of course.”

“Hm, Shocking that you allow such frivolity to even come in the door,” the Doctor said automatically, then remembered they were supposed to be getting along.

“I’m not a Scrooge, no matter what you may think of me,” said the Brigadier. “And what Fiona wants. Fiona gets.” His expression seemed to tighten even more at this. “I’m sure you understand, Doctor.”

“No…” said the Doctor faintly. “I really don’t…” He wasn’t sure who Fiona was, but presumably someone in his family the Brigadier was answerable to. A wife no doubt. And that-- well in the traditional human sense-- was far from of his realm of experience.

“Consider yourself fortunate,” the Brigadier murmured and the Doctor felt he had accidentally struck a nerve. Still he wondered if he would take a difficult marriage to being-- well, here. Fairly alone on an alien planet, partaking in an alien custom he had only a passing interest in. He should probably make more of an effort, he supposed, but all he could see is doing this again next year, and the year after that and the year after that-- the shining ornaments on the spindly tree becoming old and worn, the people around him becoming old and worn and moving on with lives he couldn’t precisely partake in.

These were not comfortable thoughts, nor convenient in this time or place where he was supposed to be enjoying himself. Still he couldn’t quite bury them, though he managed to pull a smile onto his mouth as Jo came over them with Bennet in tow, the latter’s face flushed with drink. The Doctor almost envied him.

“Well are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“It’s certainly interesting,” he said, which was not a lie.

“Miss Grant here was telling me all about your pleasure moon,” said Bennet, swaying lightly. “Think I could get a ticket? I could use a good pleasure moon.”

“Well that’s the first I’ve heard about it,” said the Brigadier, the smirk full on his face. “Why not tell us about it, Doctor? I’m sure it’ll be illuminating.”

They were mocking him, he knew. Playfully but regardless. As if they couldn’t conceive of such a thing existing despite all the other things they’ve seen since he’d been with them.

“Oh, stop teasing him,” Jo said, giving Benton a little shove before turning those green eyes up at him. “I only told him you mentioned it, Doctor. Not anything more than that. And I, for one, am sure it exists.” She finished, giving the Sergeant a hard look.

“Don’t fret, Jo,” the Doctor said, smiling fondly. “I’m used to being surrounded by” imbeciles “People that can’t see past the end of their noses.”

Benton made a sound close absurdly close to a giggle. “You might not need the moon.”

Jo looked up and a shocked laugh came out of her, eyes dancing as she looked at the Doctor. “He might be right,” she said.

Raising his eyebrows, the Doctor looked up at about the same time as the Brigadier said: “Oh for the love of--”

Above their heads was a mistletoe, half hidden in shadow. No wonder he hadn’t noticed it at first.

“Well then,” he said, turning his attention back to the Brigadier who was looking a bit Scroogish about the face. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“I most certainly do!” the man snapped, flushing almost completely red. The Doctor tried to keep his smile innocent as he extended a hand.

“Oh come on, Alistair.” He raised his eyebrows. “It would certainly encourage the community.”

“I’m warning you, Doctor--!”

“Nevermind,” Jo said with a laugh. “I’ll take your place, sir, if you don’t mind.” Which was probably a good idea as they were now garnering the attention of said community-- the conversation having come down to a muted hush.

“If you would, Miss--” the Brigadier started but Benton overrode him.

“Here, I’ll give you a smack, Doc!”

Before the Doctor could even think to protest about being called ‘Doc’, his face was grabbed by two calloused hands and was the recipient of a rather hard kiss on the mouth. He was much too startled to even think how to react.

“Sergeant Benton!” the Brigadier barked, startling the younger man into stepping back and snapping into a salute.

“Sorry, sir!”

“Oh, no need to apologize,” said the Doctor, managing to gather some of his wits finally. “If one must be kissed, it might as well be by someone who knows how.” The slightly awkward laughter that scattered through the room at that was fairly encouraging. The Doctor waited a beat of silence, pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed his lips.

“Pity it had to be Benton.”

The laughter was louder this time, sending a warm feeling flooding his hearts that had everything to do with the mulled wine, he was sure. Benton gave him a loopy grin.

“Sorry about that. Seems I need more practice. Any time you’re ready, Jo.”

“I don’t think so!” she said with a laugh, giving him another shove.

“Looks like you’re stuck with your pillow, mate!” said someone else. Another wave of laughter with that and Benton took it graciously with a wave. The Doctor was about to say something witty when a song about an old woman getting run over by a reindeer came on the radio.

“Oh no no no,” the Doctor said, moving to switch the thing off. “Listen, everyone, if you’re going to have a traditional Christmas with a tree and mistletoe and kissing you’d rather forget…” and here he threw a wink at Benton, then held out his hands in a ‘quiet’ gesture until the laughter died down. “You might as well have traditional Christmas _music._ Caroling is a fine old tradition and I don’t see why we don’t pick it up. What about, oh, I don’t know…” He tapped his lip.

“What about O Come All Ye Faithful?” Jo said. “I’ve always liked that one.”

“Excellent idea, Jo!” He grinned, feeling oddly gleeful and rubbed his hands together. “Now we all must harmonize for this. May as well do it right. Sopranos over here. Altos, there. Tenors… What’s wrong, Captain Yates? Can’t sing?”

“Can’t carry a tune in a bucket,” he said with a laugh.

“I see,” replied the Doctor, half laughing himself. “Well do your best. There you are. And basses… What, no basses?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Well, we’ll have to do what we can.” He patted around for his tuning fork, found it and tapped it against the wall, listening before humming the note. “On three… Ready? One… two…”

He lowered his hands and was surprised to hear a fairly weak if serviceable bass start just over his shoulder.

“O come all ye faithful. Joyful and triumphant...”

The Doctor, startled, glanced over at the Brigadier who continued singing, raising his eyebrows as if asking him what he was waiting for. With a grateful smile and bowed nod, he began conducting; the others slowly getting over their own shock and signing along. It was a ragtag chorus to be sure with Benton listing, Yates needing several buckets and perhaps a camel to even come close to hitting the note and Jo-- Well, at least knew the words.

It was ridiculous.

And somehow… perfect.

~*~*~*~

 

The Doctor listed softly into the door way, nearly tripping over nothing and laughing at himself.

“Oop,” he said as the mistletoe he’d tucked behind his ear fell to the floor. He scooped it up and had to wait a moment for the room to stop spinning. Laughing, Jo came right behind him, leaning on the door frame.

“You…” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “Are completely knackered.”

“I am not!” He drew himself up as much as he could, trying not to sway. “It’ll take more than a glass of mulled wine that to have an effect on me!”

“How about seven,” she said with a giggle. “And you finished off the champagne not to mention that…that sherry. I can’t believe you’re still…” she gestured vaguely. “Up and down.”

“Ah…” He raised a finger. “Never underestimate a … a Time Lord’s…constituation…”

She giggled. Then smiled. He smiled back. She was such a young thing. Even for a human. Full of a kind of glittering light. For that light to be trapped here… For that determination and grit to just… be stifled in this place…

“Jo…” he said, took her hands. “Jo, you know, I could… I could really take you to that place… that moon. Or… anywhere else you wanted to go. Once I get my TARDiS fixed, why, we could go anywhere. Anywhen.”

“I know.” She smiled. Squeezed his hands. “Thank you for coming…”

“Jo…”

She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

“Happy Christmas, Jo,” he murmured as he watched her walk -- slightly weaving away. Then he closed the door, abandoning his project for now and heading for the blue box that sat tired and grounded in the corner of the room. He rested a hand on that old door, turning to look out the window for at the frosty stars out the window-- just out of reach.

“Happy Christmas,” he murmured again and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

 


	3. Gloria in Excelsis Deo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Jane is trying to move on with her life but the sting of abandonment is still too real. Still with a mystery to solve in a town of disappearing strangers, at least she'll be distracted.

[Gloria in Excelsis Deo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhhYIZJj6rk)

 

Sarah Jane had always considered herself an emotionally strong sort of person. Well, one had to be in her line of work. And a young woman certainly had to be if she wished to pursue a career in reporting beyond bake sales and garden parties. Not that she was walled off by any means, or at least, had never thought herself so. She was happy when there were happy things and sad appropriately. She had always considered herself a sensible girl with her feet on the ground. And sensible girls with their feet on the ground did not stare morosely out a frost curled window, onto a sleepy garland bedecked village, and wish they were far far away somewhere, spinning through the stars.

“You’ll just have to move on,” she told herself, straightening her shoulders. After all it had been more than several months. A few shy of a year, her mind corrected sadly. If he wasn’t coming, he wasn’t coming-- and she certainly wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him but. And it wasn’t as if, staring at that snowy street corner just below would cause that fantastically maddening police box to wheeze into existence.

It still did in her dreams…

She clicked her tongue, annoyed at herself.

“Come <i>on</i>, Sarah Jane. You’re not here to moon about.”

She had mostly gotten over it, after all! Why, she’d traveled so much recently she’d barely had any time to think at all. It was just with Christmas right around the corner, settling lonely fingers in her heart-- But it wasn’t the first Christmas she’d been alone and she honestly didn’t mind it! She wasn’t exactly the lonesome time and, in fact, preferred being on her own. So there.

Sarah Jane sipped her tea with resolute calm and let her eyes drift over the village. Upper Engleton, it was called. By all accounts a sleepy little place of no real interest. Except that, once every couple of years, on or around Christmas, a person or persons disappeared. The Yorkshire Herald had noted that Lord Haverton and family would be passing through the area on their way to their estate during the holiday and hoped they would not fall victim to the Upper Engleton curse. Which, they had insinuated, tongue in cheek, was likely due to the fact that no one would have any desire to stay in such a boring little village.

She had done some digging of her own of course, looking up records of who had disappeared and what was made of it. There had been no one of note. A spent farmer. A divorced lady. An old man. A pack of ne’er do wells. And so on. There had been very few names, only descriptions, though what names she could find were of people still missing--some presumed dead they’d been so long away.

A call to Harry a few days ago had told her UNITs stance on it, which also hadn’t amounted to much. They hadn’t heard of it and it was probably nothing. No more than a local legend or young idiots getting lost and freezing to death in the forest on the other side of the hill. And really, old girl, he he had said (and oh, Sarah Jane _hated_ when he called her that) she should really stop looking for giants where there were only windmills. He had understood, of course. Given her recent experience. But it was time to come back down to Earth.

The sad thing was she agreed with him. To an extent. But just because it was Earth didn’t mean that there wasn’t something queer going on. She wouldn’t have been able to explain it to anyone had they asked, only a feeling in her gut. But a feeling in her gut was enough to rouse her to investigate, especially since the alternative was-- well-- too much time with nothing to do.

 _And you’re hoping he’ll show up, too,_ said a nasty little voice in the back of her mind that she had since developed. _But he won’t. He doesn’t even care to know where you are._

“Who cares if he cares?” Sarah Jane murmured to herself, finishing her tea and setting it on the bureau. She stopped to fix her hair in the antique mirror perched atop it. “You’ve got work to do.”

And she didn’t care.

She really didn’t.

Not a whit.

 

~*~*~*~

The Ham and Drum Pub was a cozy little place and Sarah Jane felt her spirits lift a little as she descended the stairs into the warm air, the walls festooned with garland and ribbon, the pleasant smell of food cooking and: “The Little Drummer Boy ” playing softly from the record player. It really was a stereotypical Christmas scene, and while she knew that she would soon get tired of the constant iterations of various forms of Christmas music, for right now it was a soothing balm for the cold, chafed spot that rested just in the center of her chest.

It was coming on supper anyway, and she knew soon enough someone would change the channel or put on the telly and a football game or some other sport. So she enjoyed the cheer while she could as she tucked herself at a somewhat conspicuous table and surveyed the place. There was nothing unusual here. At least not that she could see. There were a handful of old men and three old women chattering animatedly in the corner, Sarah Jane had to smile at that. So far everyone looked day to day and local. Not that she’d be able to pick a non-local out of the crowd, of course.

Though she knew there were some. She’d snuck a peek at the guestbook on her way in and had noted there were two other people staying at the pub aside from her. Paul Marter and Tom Chandler. Not that she’d any idea what they looked like and she hadn’t quite stooped to peeping through keyholes…

…yet.

Of course it could be really was barking up the wrong tree, she thought to herself as the evening wore on, the sound of a game coming to life as promised. She rested her cheek and watched with a kind of sinking boredom as the old men played darts. Perhaps she was even just looking for a tree to bark at. The door opened and she glanced immediately, but it was just another local, greeted by his fellows with a rousing cheer. She closed her eyes and sighed. It seemed even after all this time she was still looking.

 _If only,_ Sarah Jane thought, and then wished hard. _If only--!_

A shadow fell over her and her heart jumped--! Until a woman said:

“Well, you’re too pretty to look so sad on such a day. Have a cocoa, on the house.”

“Oh,” Sarah Jane said, trying to arrange her face into a pleasant smile as the landlady set the cocoa down. “It does look delicious but I couldn’t…”

“Oh go on,” the landlady said with a smile. “If you want to pay in kind you can let me nab a seat with you and put me feet up for a tick. Legs are worn to nibbins.”

“Of course, I’d be delighted,” Sarah Jane said, and meant it. Who better to talk to than the friendly owner of the local pub and inn? The entire village went by her front door, more or less. So if anything _was_ happening… well… She tried to contain her questions as the woman sat with a groan. It wouldn’t do to appear overeager. So she gave the woman another genuine smile and sipped her cocoa, trying to formulate the questions exactly right in her mind.

“That’s much better,” the woman said. Offered a hand. “Name’s Marjorie Stubbs.”

“Sarah Jane Smith,” she said, taking it. That out of the way, the woman, Marjorie Stubbs, seemed even more at ease.

“Mind if I ask what brings you to these parts this time of year?” Marjorie said. “Forgive me if I’m puttin’ my beak in.” She tapped the side of her nose. “Only I see everyone what comes and goes and you don’t seem a relation that I can recall.”

It was such a beautiful lead-in that Sarah Jane had to sip at her cocoa and look away to compose her expression. Finally she set the mug down and stared at the lip of it, trying to appear pensive and sad.

“Well… you see… the truth is…” she trailed off as if she was nervous about saying it. She couldn’t be too blunt or forward. She composed the lines in her head about her Grandfather… missing some years back and having passed through Upper Engleton and so was on a quest to find him as per her Grandmother’s dying wish. Though in retrospect, perhaps that was a hair melodramatic and needed to be toned down a bit.

“Missing him, are you?” Marjorie said and Sarah Jane jolted in shock. Was the woman psychic? Some kind of mind reading alien? Both? If she was Sarah Jane was in serious trouble. Marjorie chuckled and patted her arm.

“Don’t look so alarmed, duckie. It’s just I know the look. Like I said I know all what come and go here and folks what’ve lost folks are drawn to this place now and again.”

“O-oh,” Sarah Jane said, feeling a bit foolish, then plowed ahead with her story, trying to get back on her feet: “Well… my Grandfather…”

“Grandfather?” the woman said with a knowing, disbelieving smile that flustered Sarah Jane all over again. She couldn’t well go with the missing lover angle. Not unless she could fake the name of a missing ne’er do well and hope Marjorie had never heard it.

“W-well I--”

“It’s alright,” Marjorie said, kindly. “Me too.” She pulled a locket on a thin gold chain out of her jumper and opened it, showing a picture of a handsome young man in uniform on one side and a smiling little boy on the other. “Promised me the world and then got himself shot down before he could even give it, the lazy sod. Wouldn’t’ve been so bad if the son hadn’t followed the father…” Her eyes were misty and Sarah Jane decided it would be better for the woman to think what she would of her. There was no point in correcting her and what could she say? That he had been a friend and then suddenly, strangely, wasn’t. Or had forgotten somehow. Or had gotten lost or even perhaps…

But no, she wouldn’t think of the Doctor dead…

And if he …became someone new…who was to say…

The door opened again, blowing in cold and making her eyes sting. She looked up and saw a young man enter furtively, almost as if he’d rather not be seen. No one raised the call to greet him or even so much as glanced his way. He glanced their way, though, with pale green eyes widening slightly-- then looked away and hurried up the stairs. When Sarah Jane glanced away she saw Marjorie watching him go. The woman caught her watching and smiled, patting her arm.

“Well back to work I go. Thanks for the chat. And, by the by, if you’re free tomorrow, I’ll show you the lay of the land. Not much to see here in Upper Engleton but we’ve got our charms if you know where to look.”

“I’d like that,” Sarah Jane said. Marjorie squeezed her arm and, instead of turning back toward the bar, waved off the looks of the hapless man behind it and started up the stairs herself. After which, though? Marter or Chandler? And why? And why were people who had lost people drawn here to this sleepy little village?

Curiouser and curiouser.

And perhaps not the wrong tree after all.

~*~*~*~

 

The next day dawned bright and cold and Sarah Jane was out of sorts. She stood just outside the pub, waiting for Marjorie Stubbs and fussing with her scarf. The sun was too bright. The air was too cold. And she’d had that dream again. Though less these days, the dream was still persistent, like a sore under the clothes that caught and pulled unexpectedly. She’d heard the TARDiS land, had chased down that sound, hope flying in her heart-- ready to berate and then hug the stuffings out of that addlebrained idiot… and when she got there in the place she knew where it should be-- it was gone. It was irritating… if she _had_ to dream of it, she’d rather either find it or not know for certain she’d missed it.

But that was neither here nor there, she told herself firmly. And, in fact, she should be cheerful. She’d gotten a lead after all. Maybe not much of a lead but _something_ to go on… And even if Upper Engleton was as boring as drying paint, at least she could quiz Marjorie Stubbs about the visitor last night. Whether Marter or Chandler, she still hadn’t discovered. Maybe neither of them!

The bells above the pub door jingle jangled and Sarah Jane straightened, trying to put on her best pleasant face. It wasn’t difficult when she thought of the mystery afoot, knowing it could be just about anything. Marjorie Stubbs stepped out onto the snow coated pavement, fair hair tucked under a bobble hat and a sturdy scarf of a reasonable length wrapped round her neck.

“There now, duckie. Good to see you.” She smiled just as warmly as ever before. “Ready for the grand tour such as it is?”

“Quite ready,” Sarah Jane said cheerfully. “I must thank you for going out of your way.”

“No trouble at all,” Marjorie said, checking for traffic before starting across the road. “I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas and alone on Christmas in Upper Engleton.” She smiled thinly. “If you haven’t been here for on thirty years, they don’t even know your name.”

“Oh? So you’re not from the area,” Sarah Jane said. It seemed that the woman was just as much a part of this place as everyone else, so it was a little surprising.

“Nah. Moved here after little Denny was born. You know how it is.”

“Yes…” Sarah Jane said, and she did know a little.That kind of stigma could follow a young single mother and people could and would be absolutely horrid. Honestly, Sarah Jane had never understood why it mattered so much. She knew why everyone said it _should_ matter but somehow could never get herself to agree with the common way of thinking.

She shook her head faintly and then noticed that they were being watched. Here and there. Faces in windows. Peeping through blinds. A woman in the doorway of a hardware shop.

“I take it strangers are uncommon,” Sarah Jane murmured.

“Uncommon enough,” said Marjorie as if this didn’t concern her. “Mostly they’ve long noses, like me.”

“It will certainly be uncommon if Lord Haverton comes through,” Sarah Jane said, wondering what the woman would do with that bit of trivia.

“Know about that, do you?” Marjorie said a bit sharply, then sniffed. “Most here don’t care what the muckety-mucks think. Neither do I if it comes to that.”

“I wonder what they think about that green eyed fellow. Perhaps they frightened him?” She paused as if considering. “He seemed awfully on edge.”

“Well, you’re a sharp eyed one, Miss Smith,” said Marjorie in a tone Sarah Jane couldn’t quite read. It sounded casual enough but…she wondered if she might have overplayed her hand.

“In any case,” the woman continued. “I wouldn’t know what he thinks of them or they of him. Mind my own business I do. Just wanted to make sure he knew about fresh linens. Couldn’t say any more of Mr. Chandler than that.”

So, Chandler, was it? Interesting….

“He’s quite good looking,” Sarah Jane offered, to give the woman an idea of why she’d been so observant.

“Well that’s as may be,” Marjorie said, patting her shoulder. “But you’ve had enough trouble with that I’ll warrant, my duck.”

Well, what was that supposed to mean! Having an affair outside of marriage was one thing-- But to insinuate--! No, it didn’t matter, Sarah Jane reminded herself.

“Now this here is Millford’s Bakery,” Marjorie was saying. “Twenty-second oldest bakery this side of Leeds.”

“Oh,” Sarah Jane said, trying to sound at least partly interested. “Fascinating.”

~*~*~*~

By midafternoon, Sarah Jane was seriously starting to regret her decision to go on this little tour. It seemed that the Yorkshire Herald may have been right about the Upper Engleton curse, at least when it came to boring people to death. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t interested in history but there were only so many ‘twenty-second oldests’ and ‘site of such-and-so’s first historical event’ that one could take. She had been close to begging off for the rest of the day and giving it up as a bad job but then Marjorie Stubbins had suggested the old abbey.

And it was certainly an old abbey, Sarah Jane thought as they trudged up the well worn path to the top of the hill. Most of it looked to have been reduced to rubble some time ago. Only a single upright stone, strangely oblong like a tooth, remained next to a curious high stone wall, covered in ivy, that looked like an entrance to some garden. There was something about it, she thought as she approached. Something that made her stop. It wasn’t a dangerous something but a kind of waiting something or perhaps an old something. Like how some ruins had that feel to them that things that once were never quite went away.

“Whooee, it’s a bit of a walk,” Marjorie said, puffing and blowing as she came up to Sarah Jane’s side. “But you can see the whole town from here and then some.” And she gestured expansively. Sarah Jane turned her back to the abbey and looked out over the town. It certainly looked peaceful and idyllic from up here, she thought, shading her eyes from the sun. All wrapped up for Christmas even with the green garland and snow.

“Despite everything it must be a lovely place to live,” she murmured sincerely.

“If you don’t mind doing nothing for the rest of your life,” said Marjorie with a laugh and Sarah Jane laughed a little too. It seemed they were both restless souls, caught where they didn’t precisely want to be.

“Now this here…” Marjorie turned and paced toward the abbey. Sarah Jane hesitated and followed her. “Our most famous landmark. _Just_ ours, mind, no matter what those snobs in Lower Engleton say.” Marjorie said, shaking a playful finger. “This is what’s left of the Abbey of St. Jude. Established in some old time, no on remembers.”

“Surely there are records,” Sarah Jane said, surprised at the imprecision. Marjorie shrugged.

“If there were no one knows. This bit here,” she gestured to the stone wall. “Is called the Garden of Tears. Some say that it was built around the unmarked graves of suicides and the likes as people round here were afraid of them getting out.” The woman huffed a laugh as if this was ridiculous. “Truth is, no one knows for sure.”

“Oh, but there’s a door,” Sarah Jane said, now just spotting the old stone door behind a curtain of ivy. “Someone _must_ have tried it.”

“Won’t budge,” Marjorie said. “It’s a historical site and we aren’t allowed to damage it.”

Well…that seemed a little to convenient for a ruin like this. Sarah Jane nodded as if she assented and made a mental note to come back later. After a moment of strange silence, Marjorie said:

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Sarah Jane said, immediately on the alert. She looked around, strained to hear, even cupped her ears-- but heard nothing more than the wind through the trees in the forest.

“Nothing,” Marjorie said, then with a bright harsh laugh. “The voices of the dead. I were only teasing you. It’s a trick we locals play.”

“I see!” Sarah Jane said, laughing as well. What a shrewd woman this was. What was she up to? Sarah Jane wondered. What was the game? Marjorie approached the stone tooth. Sarah Jane went with her and the more she looked at it the more it looked like something made to be that shape instead of a ruin.

“This stone is--” Marjorie said: “Well, what it is no one knows… But some say it’s a monument to St Jude.” Sarah Jane suddenly found herself under the woman’s scrutiny.

“Patron Saint of lost things,” Sarah Jane said, having picked it up from somewhere. Marjorie nodded.

“They say… the legend goes… if you touch the stone and send a prayer to St. Jude… what you lost… whatever it is… will be returned to you…”

“Why that’s ridiculous,” Sarah Jane said before she even thought about it, but then immediately wondered if it was. After all, with everything she’d seen, why couldn’t such a thing exist? Because it was too convenient, her mind supplied. Even if it could return something…or someone… it likely wasn’t without a cost.

“Is it so ridiculous?” Marjorie said. “Why not touch it and find out for yourself? Couldn’t hurt.” She was smiling, her eyes like flint. Sarah Jane hesitated. Whether it worked or not, there was something going on here. Something insidious. She should call UNIT-- Only she knew that it would take too long haranguing them for it to be effective. Anyway she had no more proof than a hunch.

If the Doctor were here…

He would probably be trussed up and unconscious somewhere, she told herself with a fond sort of ruefulness. Anyway, he wasn’t here. Wherever he was, she was on her own in this-- so the only two options were to go forward or…back out.

“Go on…” Marjorie said. “Give it a try…”

“Well…alright…” Sarah Jane approached the monument. It had no writing that she could see. Nothing of any kind to indicate it was anything other than a cold stone stuck atop a lonely hill. She reached out. Hesitated. Then placed her fingers on the smooth surface.

There was nothing at first, then a faint electrical slither underneath her fingertips as if something was alive and--

“Oh!” Sarah Jane staggered back, fingers to her forehead. Something _had_ happened! Almost as if-- a string snapped from her mind, leaving behind a short, sharp pain. She was suddenly dizzy. “Oh… Oh what was that?”

“Nothing to worry about, my duck,” Marjorie said warmly, hand on her elbow. Sarah Jane wanted to pull away from her but knew she wouldn’t be able to stand if she tried. “You look a bit peaky. Let’s get you back and get some tea in you. Bout that time anyway…”

“Yes…” Sarah Jane said faintly, massaging her head. Whatever that had been had gone now and she couldn’t even adequately remember what it was. But there was something -- the feeling of something-- not missing perhaps but, pushed aside, like a very small tunnel in her head. Whatever it was or had been, she was too dizzy to resist being lead down the hill, Marjorie Stubbins warmly escorting her in a vice like grip.

~*~*~*~

 

Christmas Eve.

Or well, Christmas Eve afternoon, Sarah Jane thought, staring blankly at the paper. The carols were on again in the pub. Mostly they washed over her. Mostly everything did. She tried to focus on the music but all she could pick out was ‘in excelsis deo’ before it faded again. She tried to focus on the paper. The Engleton Tribute. Something important here. Something right under her nose. Something she was missing. But what? About… Lord Haverton…She massaged her forehead.

She felt like she’d been sleepwalking for ages. She remembered being walked back, going to bed, waking up this morning and staring at something the maid was doing. Something important. Something missing. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Out of bed. Dressed. In the corridor and then…surprised… and suspicious. Room empty of occupant but… empty suitcase?

Before she could puzzle this out, Marjorie Stubbins was beside her elbow again as she had been through most of the day, flitting back and forth and plying her with food and warm drinks. Nothing alcoholic, Sarah Jane had fuzzily noted with some relief. But then… But then… But then _what?_

“Still looking a bit green about the gills I see,” Marjorie said, putting a cool hand to Sarah Jane’s forehead as if checking for fever. She wanted to pull away but before she even could, Marjorie had dropped her hand and was pulling out her chair, the vibrations as it scraped across the floor going up Sarah Jane’s legs.

“Some air will be just the thing. Up you get.”

Sarah Jane stood in an effort to resist being forcibly pulled to her feet. She reached for the paper but Marjorie swept it away along with lunch things. Sarah Jane hadn’t even remembered eating.

“Now here you are, my duck, let’s get your coat on. Wouldn’t want you to catch your death…”

Sarah Jane wanted to resist. She truly did. But it seemed more effort than to just go along with it for now. Still she tried to pull herself together as Marjorie helped her into the coat, tugged the scarf round her neck, pinned her hat on carefully and patted her cheek with short fingers. It was overly familiar and disturbingly so. As if, overnight, Sarah Jane had become some sort of possession.

This thought chilled her even as she was hustled out the door and into the gray day. Perhaps because it was busy or that snow was threatening even if it hadn’t fallen but the traffic seemed heavier than usual. Or perhaps it was…was due to… tourists? No… Something important… No not important… unusual… She took a step, staggered a little and then righted herself, trying to walk in a straight line as she walked, hoping the exercise would clear her head.

She just had to focus on one thing at a time, perhaps. What she had been reading? Engleton Tribute. Serving Upper and Lower Engleton proudly since….whenever, not especially important… Then, Lord Haverton’s pass through… diverted…? But…why? She had to find another newspaper, that was all. She spotted a vending box just a little further down the way and went toward it, squinting as she looked down at the title.

 

**Lord Haverton’s Drive Through Diverted**

 

Yes, she could retain that much, perhaps the cold air was doing her some good. She narrowed her eyes further and tried to focus on reading the rest, one word at a time.

 

_It is little wonder that Lord Haverton (54) would choose to stop through Upper Engleton. The charming little village, (boasting the twenty-second oldest bakery in the district)…_

 

Oh, get on with it, thought Sarah Jane.

 

… _had been the late Miss Christina Elizabeth Haverton’s (22) favored stomping grounds_ …

 

The shadow of a pedestrian passed over her, distracting her. More distracting was the faint scent of cinnamon in their wake. The near whisper of cloth brushing her cheek. She closed her eyes. Then opened them again and shook her head, realizing with some irritation she’d lost her place, reading some lines below-

 

… _convinced by a family friend to…_

 

Wait! She _knew_ that smell!

 

Sarah Jane straightened so suddenly she had to lean against the wall of a building until the head rush passed. She blinked, trying to focus, not daring to believe she’d seen what she thought she had.

 

But yes. Yes! He was there! Walking down the pavement as easy as you please! Hat low over his curls, the ends of his long scarf trailing behind him at his clipped pace! The slightly slouched easy manner of walking.

 

“Doctor!” she called, or tried to, but her voice was faint.

 

Hadn’t he recognized her?

 

Never mind! She hurried to catch up, waving her hand futility at his back.

 

“Doctor! Doctor, I’m here! Doctor, please wait!”

 

Why wasn’t he stopping?! Why couldn’t she speak! Maybe he’d forgotten her somehow! Maybe she just had to remind him! She hurried. Tried to run. Nearly tripping into someone that mumbled an apology to before trying once more to run. He was crossing the road. She could see him in profile now and it was unmistakably him. Oh, what if he got away?! What if he left her behind again?!

 

“Doctor!” she cried and began to lunge across the road.

 

There was a startling honking and a screech. Sarah Jane stared speechless at the front of a red car and in the next second was tumbling back onto the pavement on top of someone, hands around her waist and nearly knocking the breath out of her. For one wild moment she thought it was the Doctor but the next moment she knew it wasn’t.

 

“Are you alright?” the woman said.

 

“I--! Oh I--! Doc--!” She scrambled upward, but the Doctor was gone. Gone as if he’d never been. Tears really did sting her eyes then and she stomped her foot, hands clenched into fists. How dare he! How dare--! It was one thing to just go without so much as a by your leave but another to lead her on like this! To-- to just dangle himself in front of her face and then go!

 

She wanted to slap him.

 

Only… that wasn’t like him at all, she realized slowly, as if coming out of a dream. He would have least said something to her. He wouldn’t have just vanished.

 

Vanished. Like… like that empty room! Like Mr. Chandler or perhaps Mr. Marter! She pressed her fingers to her forehead. The lost being returned. Lost. Marjorie’s lost husband, lost son… Haverton’s… lost daughter? The room! Perhaps there was a clue there!

 

“Thank you!” she called over her shoulder at the last moment to her rescuer before charging toward the pub. Then checked herself and moved at a more sedate pace even as adrenaline clanged like a siren through her blood. She didn’t know what was going on-- but something--! Something bad. Something _dangerous_. As she approached the pub doors she tried to put on her dazed expression, tried to wobble. Marjorie Stubbins was behind the counter and Sarah Jane pretended not to hear her as she asked if she would like to sit down. Instead Sarah Jane slouched her way up the stairs…

 

Then straightened and banked a left down the hall as soon as she was out of sight, stopping short as she saw Mr. Marter standing near the doorway of the empty room, peering in. Wait-- so -- he hadn’t vanished? She could have sworn…. He swallowed thickly and looked at her, looked away. His eyes were blood shot. Stubble ran wild over his narrow face. Smudges stood stark blue under his eyes. And he rubbed something with his thumb. The edge of a photograph, she realized.

 

“Mr… Marter?” she said, reaching out but unsure how he would take the gesture. He made a soft broken half laugh through his nose and then shook his head.

 

“Did you see…? I know you went up to the stone… Did you…” he shook his head as if unable to finish.

 

“I did… see someone…” Sarah Jane said cautiously.

 

“So it’s true.” He sniffed. Half laughed. Half sobbed. “I’m not going mad. I… I saw her, you know… My Gracie… Real as day…” He stared at the photograph, eyes wet. “She wanted…wanted me to follow I think but…. I was… I was scared.” He looked up at her, met her eyes. “So scared… How…how can she be there if she’s dead?”

 

The dead getting out, that was what Marjorie had said, Sarah Jane remembered with a thrill of cold. But… hang on…that had been about suicides… Even supposing Marjorie was lying about her lover’s and son’s deaths… that certainly didn’t explain the Doctor’s appearance…

 

Not appearance, she thought with a heavy weight in her chest.

 

Not.

 

He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been that whole time.

 

She’d just…

 

She’d just lost him…

 

And… so much… she wanted to see him again.

 

But…aside from that… there was still a room with an empty suitcase and, she could just see, clothes in the closet. But if it wasn’t Mr. Marter’s then…

 

“Miss--!” Mr. Marter said. Sarah Jane looked up to find him staring at something behind her, eyes wide.

 

She didn’t even have time to turn before something cracked her hard on the back of the skull and she was lost to stars then darkness.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It was … cold… so cold…Wet on her face. Something was grating, painfully, metal against metal… It did not help her pounding head a bit. Nor did the roughness chafing her wrists.

 

Oh no. Trapped again.

 

She groaned and opened her eyes, squinting at the gray sky, flakes of snow falling and swirling downward, melting on her face. Where was…

 

Oh… he wasn’t…

 

She blinked until her eyes focused. She was on the hill. At the abbey. There was the stone wall and, Marjorie Stubbins who had pushed the ivy aside and was working and cursing at the lock. Beside her the shadow of-- Mr. Marter! Sarah Jane sucked in a quiet happy breath as she saw him. A breath that left her when she noticed he was not tied up at all… The look he gave her was quiet and sad.

 

She was alone…

 

Alone but not defeated.

 

Sarah Jane slowly rose to her feet, trying to make as little noise as possible, begging, pleading with Mr. Marter to let her go. Escape from…whatever this was. He gave her another long look and then smiled, fairly sad, raising his left hand which held a pistol.

 

“Sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I won’t lose her. Not again.”

 

“Hm?” said Marjorie, then looked back with her flint eyes. “Oh, you’re awake. Sorry about that but you are too smart for your own good.”

 

“Please,” said Sarah Jane, focusing on Mr. Marter. “I don’t… I don’t think she was even real…”

 

“Don’t say that,” he said harshly, his face contorting.

 

“I think it was all in your mind. That that…that stone…thing… pulled it out somehow…” How else would it know about the Doctor? How else would it know what would strike her the most?

 

“Shut up!” he snapped.

 

“Don’t worry,” said Marjorie soothingly. “There are more things in heaven and earth than the likes of her knows.” She pushed open the door. “In you get.”

 

Sarah Jane thought of running but if she got even a little winged by that pistol she would have no chance of escape. Perhaps there would be a scuffle. Perhaps she could get away then.

 

“I wasn’t going to do this, you know, my duck,” said Marjorie as she took the pistol from Mr. Marter and, putting it at the small of Sarah Jane’s back, forced her into the stone garden. “I liked you, you know, even if I didn’t buy the story about your Granddad. Nor anything else neither. You’ve got a shrewish look about you.”

 

“People will miss me,” Sarah Jane said, looking around, trying to think of what she could do. It didn’t seem much. Just a sort of strange cemetery full of statues.

 

“No one will miss you,” said Marjorie. “If they had, why would you be here?”

 

The words stung, but immediately she knew they weren’t true. Perhaps… perhaps the Doctor wouldn’t. He had so much going on with his bizarre grand life. But Harry certainly, she was sure. Aunt Livinia definitely. Others she knew professionally would at least notice her absence.

 

“It was supposed to be the toffs,” Marjorie was saying. “That’s what I was aiming for. Think they’re so grand. Cutting me out of work just cos of my circumstance, starting wars so my boys can die in them.” She sniffed. Her voice shaking. “But unfortunately the grand old muckety-mucks are going somewhere else so it looks like it’s you. They need to feed, you see.”

 

“Feed?” Sarah Jane said, trying to keep her voice steady. What was feeding? There was nothing here. At least not that she could see. There was nothing here. Just them and the statues the… the crying angels.

 

“I was going to end everything but …they told me… through the stone…” Marjorie muttered. “They can bring one person back if they’re strong enough. One person. It was like a miracle. A Christmas miracle… You don’t know how it is to be all alone… ”

 

“No, I don’t…” Sarah Jane said. “I really don’t… but you…you can’t just bring someone back from the dead. It…It’s wrong…”

 

“It’s not…” Marjorie said. “And I’ve waited too many years for this moment… Too many years for it to be alright again…”

 

Sarah Jane frantically tried to think of something to say. Some way to convince her that this was mad. She couldn’t _see_ anything about to attack them but that didn’t meant it wasn’t there.

 

“What… do you mean,” Mr. Marter said quietly. “Only one person…?” He looked at her.

 

“I--” said Marjorie and, expression livid, Mr. Marter advanced on her.

 

Sarah Jane knew her moment. She whirled, knocking the pistol out of Marjorie’s hands. It hit the ground and went off. Marjorie shrieked and dove toward it but Sarah Jane kicked it away. Mr. Marter let out a cry of pure terror.

 

“Mr. Marter what--” Sarah Jane turned and then screamed herself. Every single one of the statues had moved. No longer in the traditional weeping pose, they were staring blankly with stone eyes, a hand or hands outstretched.

 

“What are they?! What are they?!” Mr. Marter burbled, backing against the wall.

 

“I don’t know,” Sarah Jane said. “Stay calm.” Even though her own heart was trying to break through her ribs.

 

Because they weren’t moving now. Whatever the--

 

There was the scrape of a key turning in the lock and Sarah Jane looked over her shoulder to see that Marjorie had locked the door, giving Sarah Jane a twisted expression of self satisfaction.

 

“You--” Sarah Jane said.

 

“Wha--!?” Mr. Marter yelped. Sarah Jane turned round again and startled. The angels were closer now. Hands crooked into claws. Mr. Marter was gone. Gone as if he had never been. Sarah Jane backed up as far as she could against the side wall, accidentally nudging the pistol with her foot At least the creatures, whatever they were, seemed to be splitting up into two groups. They weren’t completely loyal to Marjorie, whatever they were.

 

“One down, one to go,” Marjorie said, voice harsh. “Don’t try to run away from it.”

 

“Listen I don’t think they’ll help you,” Sarah Jane said.

 

“They promised! You are the last!”

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work. Look at them! They’re heading for you, too!”

 

Marjorie’s eyes widened, glinting with wet and not just from the snow.

 

“They… they just don’t know. That’s all. They’re just hungry. They promised.”

 

“Marjorie, I’m sorry but your son is dead! There’s no getting him back!”

 

Marjorie’s teeth flashed in an almost feral snarl and she scooped up a large stone from the ground.

 

“Hurry up and die, you bitch!” she snapped, throwing it. Sarah Jane tried to dodge but it struck her hard in the forehead, making everything go black. There was the frantic sound of footsteps over stone then nothing. Sarah Jane forced her eyes open and fought back the scream that had risen to her throat.

 

One of the creatures had gotten close enough to be centimeters from her face. If it breathed, she would have smelled it. Its face had turned positively demonic, eyes narrowed, mouth open showing fangs. She wanted to call for the Doctor. The word was in her mouth. Wanted to burst out. She wanted to hear the sound of the TARDiS, now at the last hour, the last hope. She longed for it with everything she had.

 

…And nothing happened.

 

She raised her chin. Raised her shoulders. Well, she didn’t care. She’d get through this on her own.

 

“Alright, listen, up. I-- I am not afraid of you,” she said, glancing for the key-- if she could get it then-- But it was gone, she realized with a surge of fresh panic. How was she going to get out? _How was she going to get out_? Blood trickled against her eye and she fought the urge to close it since that seemed to be how they moved. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t let these things win.

 

“I… may not be… the Doctor…But I won’t let you beat me.” But she could still get out of this. How? She asked the inner Doctor in her mind. He gave her a frowning shrug. Useless man. But maybe that was the trick of it. How? Somehow. She didn’t know. There was a lock, which looked sturdy, but the door was simple wood. She couldn’t burn it. She couldn’t hack it apart. She certainly couldn’t scale the wall without turning her back on these things.

 

But… she thought, catching the dull glint of the pistol out of the corner of her eye. She could… shoot. Shoot the lock out even… So long as she didn’t stop looking… She carefully knelt, watching them, her eyes burning, and picked up the gun. Then scooted a small distance along the wall. She couldn’t go too far or she wouldn’t be at the right angle to hit it but…

 

But oh no she’d have to at least look!

 

She tried blindly shooting, wincing a little at the recoil of the gun and nearly crying as she heard it ping off stone. Fine. So … she’d just have to… to be quick.

 

She glanced at the door and shot. Glanced back. They were a little closer. A second time. A third. Each time they were getting closer. Faster. And after a fourth shot one of those stone fingers almost brushed her. She bit the inside of her lip, praying, hoping that it would be enough…

 

Backing away, she pressed her shoulders up against the wall and slid along it to the door. She backed against it. It budged but not enough. So she came forward and backed into it again. A third time, hard as she could. The door shuddered and gave, sending her sprawling backwards outside. Sarah Jane shrieked and scrambled to her feet as quick as she could, slamming the door in the angel’s face.

 

But now what?

 

_Now what?_

 

They would get out if she left. The door could swing open at any time. And no one in the village knew about them. They would all be doomed without even knowing how to fight back.

 

The door shuddered and she shrieked again and kicked it, then, pressed her back against it to hold it in place, staying away from the keyhole just in case they could reach through.

 

They were silent. Still. Still as the grave. The snow swirled down.

 

Sarah Jane watched, sinking to the ground, back still to the door. She was cold. Freezing even. Every part of her ached. Blood itched down her face. Was this how she was going to die? Alone? On Christmas Eve? On a hill? It seemed so because she couldn’t move and she couldn’t leave.

 

Darkness. Her eyes closed. She wrenched them open. Darkness again. Eyes open again. Then closed. So warm.

 

Footsteps in the snow.

 

She opened her eyes again. Vision blurred. Someone was standing over her in the gray. Hands in their pockets. Long coat blowing in the wind. She smiled, warmth filling her.

 

“Doc…tor…” and she listed sideways into the snow.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Christmas Day.

 

In hospital.

 

Peachy.

 

Sarah Jane at her hands, listening to the Queen’s Speech but not able to see it much or anything else for that matter. Multiple concussion, the doctor had said. Her vision should clear up in a few days and not to worry. Well she wasn’t worried. She was mad. The moment she’d woken up, in a wave of frantic half blind activity, she’d harangued the staff to let her call UNIT and then harangued UNIT until they’d sent someone out to deal with the strange stone creatures.

 

 

A few hours later, Harry had phoned back saying that everything seemed to be fine. The whole place had become mirrored somehow and when she’d asked about the stone tooth, he hadn’t known what she was talking about-- but perhaps she couldn’t properly describe it. But the worst thing… the _worst--!_ Was when she had asked about the Doctor, asked if he was there, and Harry had said there had been no sign. And he’d tell her if there were, old girl.

 

Damn that old girl line.

 

She clenched her teeth.

 

Aside from her own anger, people had died. Or disappeared. Not just Marjorie and Mr. Marter, but the others who had disappeared. The other lonely desperate people who had come, maybe for some hope, and then just vanished.

 

How was the world like that? It was hard enough just living day to day.

 

She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. It just was, that was all. It wasn’t fair but neither was life. How dare it be that way? She swallowed back the blistering tears and glared at her hands, listening to the sounds of the ward around her, wishing she were anywhere else.

 

Someone approached her room and she had hopes that it would be Harry or at least some familiar face that she could recognize, but even with the blurred vision she could see it was absolutely no one she knew.

 

“Hallo there,” said the woman. “Mind if I sit down?”

 

“Go ahead,” Sarah Jane said, trying to compose herself while at the same time annoyed at having to do so. Then she recognized the voice.

 

“Oh, you were the one in the street the other day. I never thanked you.”

 

“Yeah you did…”

 

“Well…briefly… yes… I was a little distracted.” She sniffed and offered a small smile. “So thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” There was a pause and then. “I… ah…bought you a coconut.”

 

“I…” Sarah Jane wasn’t even sure how to process that kind of statement. “I beg your pardon.”

 

“A coconut. So you can get well. Good for you, coconuts.” She placed it in Sarah Jane’s lap. From this angle it looked like a rough hairy bowling ball. There was a moment of hesitation and then: “I…think you may need a straw.”

 

“Thank you…” Sarah Jane said. And here she was…

 

In hospital

 

On Christmas Day

 

Being offered coconuts by a stranger.

 

And through all that… all that… _nonsense_ \-- she’d been completely on her own.

 

To her shame her eyes welled and tears dropped unbidden on her hands and the stupid stupid coconut. She tried to stop but once the tears started, they wouldn’t leave and her chest wracked in a heaving sob as she hunched over. It was awful. It was _humiliating._ But she couldn’t stop.

 

“What’s wrong?” said the woman, alarmed. “Are you hurt? … More than usual?”

 

“No…” she shook her head. Then: “Yes… I… I had… I had a friend… one of the best I ever had… ever and… he didn’t even say goodbye…!” she shook her head, burying her face in her hands, trying to stop. Unable to. “I don’t understand! I waited and waited and he never came back! Was I not good enough? Was I too dull? Too human? Am I that small in his eyes? I never wanted it to be forever, but--!”

 

She shook her head. Face in her hands. Wishing she could disappear on the spot as terrible a thought as that was. Wishing most of all she could _understand!_

 

The woman was silent, as of course she was hearing a stranger’s complete meltdown. And then the bed shifted and the woman was next to her, arm around her shoulders, rubbing softly.

 

“Oh, Sarah Jane… I’m sure you were magnificent. I’m sure you were… quite fun and just a tiny bit intimidating…”

 

Sarah Jane gave a muffled laugh in spite of herself: “What… me?”

 

“Definitely given how you can shoot.”

 

Another muffled laugh and she shook her head.

 

“I was often quite tempted.”

 

The woman laughed herself. Paused, then said: “But… I think sometimes…it’s difficult… to say goodbye. To the ones we care about…most deeply.”

 

That set off a new wave of tears, something deep down inside of her was bursting forth, coming out without any say so or input from her. She knew it. She did! She knew it so much! Hard to say goodbye to those you loved even if they weren’t dead and maybe… just… just maybe… she hadn’t said it yet.

 

Only now it was being cried out of her and she did. She said goodbye. She waved to that blue box. To that lunatic with curls and bright blue eyes and a mad grin and even the one before since they were the same-- the gentle silver haired dandy. But it wouldn’t be forever, no. She wouldn’t sit waiting and peeking around every corner. She wouldn’t keep hoping every day…

 

But she would watch and she would keep hope that one day, some day, somehow…. She would see him again.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m a slobbering mess,” Sarah Jane said, finally able to get hold of herself. Then she realized… “How did you know my name?” And then she understood. “Oh… you must be from UNIT…”

 

The woman hesitated, then said: “I work for them, yes.”

 

“I suppose I wasn’t completely alone after all…” That was a relief. It annoyed her a little but at least she could understand. Perhaps the woman had to be undercover.

 

“You were never alone,” the woman said. And then: “Though you may be quite often… In the future...”

 

“Oh, I know. And I’m prepared! But I shan’t isolate myself. If the Doctor can find friends wherever he goes, why, so can I!”

 

“Too right,” the woman said. Sarah Jane smiled and sniffed, scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, wishing she could see. Looking up at the woman all she saw was a fuzzy face and a halo of short blond hair.

 

“Well I’m fine now, you needn’t comfort me. I’m sure you have a Christmas to get home to.”

 

“Actually…” the woman said. “I don’t… But if it’s all the same to you… I’d like to stay…” She held out a hand as if offering Sarah Jane to take it.

 

“I’d like that,” she murmured, taking her hand, and feeling a kind of warmth go through her. Strangers or no, Christmas was Christmas. And for now, right in this moment, this was all that mattered

 

 

 


	4. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Potts is all ready to experience Christmas in the 5020s. Only, of course, when traveling with the Doctor, nothing goes as planned.

[Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9L5mPfpeXxk)

 

Bill grinned to herself as the Tardis landed with a solid thump. It was still a bit barmy to her, traveling round time and space in a box that always sounded like it had a bit of a head cold, but it was growing on her. That and he’d let her pull the lever for them to land. Her. Bill Potts. Operating a time machine. Brilliant.

Though kind of a let down now that she thought about it. She’d kind of thought she’d get to flip more switches or twirl the twirly thing or press buttons or whatever it was the Doctor did… which, to be honest, seemed to change a little each time.

“Good job, Miss Potts,” the Doctor called from another room. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“Sure…” Bill said, flopping back to sit on the jump seat, then getting up again, hands in pockets, restless. How anyone could figure out how this thing worked was beyond her. “So where are we?” Bill asked, looking at the monitor, expecting to see something exciting. “…Other than a janitor’s closet,” she muttered, looking at the mop propped up in the corner.

“Nothing wrong with janitors,” the Doctor said. “Sometimes I’m known as the great janitor of the universe!”

“Uh huh…” Bill said, not entirely doubting him. He was so weird. “But you’re not going to tell me we did the whole time and space thing to visit a mop. ‘Cos if that’s what you wanted, we’ve got at least three of them in the caf’.”

“How does Christmas Day, in London of the howling twenties sound?”

“Get out,” Bill said with a laugh. “That’s amazing!”

“Isn’t it?” The Doctor said and there was a faint zip.

“I mean, when we left, it was March!”

“I-- Yes of course it was March. Why is that the part that shocks you?”

“It’s like we went round the whole year, and more or less stayed in the same place,” Bill said, grinning hugely at the mop that was now a kind of Christmastime mop. Didn’t make it look much better, but the great thing was, if it was Christmastime, it meant she didn’t have to use it. “And I’m on break.”

“Aren’t you even going to ask about the howling twenties reference?”

“Oh, was I supposed to notice that? Thought you’d just got mixed up.”

“I never get mixed up,” he said and she decided not to comment . “But I’m talking about the 5020s. Earth’s third golden age. And after I take part in a panto for the Queens, I’m going to take you to see the famous Daisy Golding.”

“Okay, I have no idea who Daisy Golding is,” Bill said, turning as she heard the Doctor come out.

One time, when she was an eleventh year, a boy trying to impress her told her about the blue screen of death. When a computer can’t handle any more input, he’ d said, it just shuts down. And looking at the Doctor now, in his silver heels and the matching silver flapper dress with the fringe just above his knobbly knees, overdone make up and blond wig -- she was starting to understand that humans could blue screen, too. Especially since the sunglasses he still wore sent the two styles crashing into one another at top speed.

“But…” Bill said, because there was something beyond _all that_ that was bugging her. “If we’re in the 5020’s, right, why are you dressed like the 1920s… ?” she added as he came down the stairs, wobbling a bit on the heels. “And what’s with the wings?” She said, noting the small sparkly butterfly wings strapped to his back.

“Oh, blame the aesthetic of the phantomime. Now…” He typed something into the keyboard and swiveled the monitor towards her. On it was the picture of a gorgeous woman. Soft brown skin, full lips, bit of a gap in her teeth which made it adorable, curled black lashes over dark brown eyes and a golden flower in her straightened hair.

“Daisy Golding. Most famous Jazz/Hypno Fusion artist in the early 5020s. Greatest artist of her generation.”

“And we’re going to see her?” Bill said, grinning.

“On stage and in person,” the Doctor replied with a grin. “Best part of time traveling when you’re me is that you get more famous than anyone else. Which makes autographs a cinch.”

“Wow.” Then Bill laughed a little. She couldn’t imagine it would be easy not to give an autograph to someone that was trying to look like some sort of faeire queen on a bender. And then a thought. “You’re not trying to set me up, are you? ‘Cos, as my tutor, that’d be a little creepy.”

“Of course not!” the Doctor said, shutting off the monitor with a press of a button. “Now tell me…” he turned. “Are my seams straight?”

 

~*~*~*~

A few moments later and Bill was standing outside the janitor’s closet in an empty corridor. Something seemed a bit odd about all of it-- maybe because everything in this office building seemed pretty normal. Even a bit old fashioned. The Doctor locked the door to the Tardis and Bill blinked at the sudden familiar chirping sound.

“What was that?” Bill said.

“Temporal lock,” the Doctor said, stepping out of the closet and, seeming to look for somewhere about his person to put the key. He finally dropped the key down the front of his dress only for it to slide through and hit the floor with a clink. They stared at it.

“Could you…?” The Doctor started.

“Yeah.” Bill swept it up, faintly surprised at how warm it felt, and stuffed it in her pocket. “Why a temporal lock?” And then after a pause to think about it. “ _What’s_ a temporal lock?”

“Humans have just started to mess around with time and if the Tardis gets stolen, well, we’ll all be in trouble. So! That lock, prevents any time traveler from entering for about, oh, twenty-four hours or so.”

“Okay but… it sounds like a car alarm…”

The Doctor gave her an exasperated look. He took her upper arms with both hands and leaned in and Bill tried not to laugh at the huge false eyelashes.

“Sometimes,” he said. “The sounds of sufficiently advanced technology are no different from a car alarm. Now let’s go!” He let her go and wobbled his way toward one of the windows. “There’s a whole great world out there… to explore…”

Bill followed him and looked out the window herself. Frankly, she expected more flying cars, but definitely not old timey vehicles and a skyline that didn’t look like any kind of London she’d ever known.

“Uhm,” she said, hazarding a guess. “Not…5020?”

“1950,” he said, tapping the side of his fingers against his lips as he stared out.

“Annnd not London,” she said, more certain this time.

“Los Angeles.”

“I see…” Bill nodded, looking down on the road once more. It seemed fairly busy for this time of night whatever time of night it was.

Then the reality of it hit her.

“Right so, we’re stuck here, with no chance of getting back in the Tardis for twenty-four hours.”

“Yep.”

“With me looking like,” and she made an open palmed gesture to her own face. “And you stuck looking like the fairy queen.”

“Technically it’s godmother…”

“In America.”

“Right.”

“In 1950.”

“Got it in one.”

“We’re going to die,” Bill said, hands in her back pockets as she stared out, half expecting search lights and dogs to appear at any moment.

“Oh, come on, Miss Potts. Don’t be so prejudiced.” He gestured at the view. “Have you ever considered we might not die? Have you ever considered we might come across something amazing? Have you ever considered something wonderful might happen?”

“Have you considered, _America_? 1950?” She gestured at the window herself. “I may not have A levels in history but even I know this is a really bad time to be us in…”

There was a silence. Somewhere in the distance a police car went by and Bill shivered.

“Have you considered,” said the Doctor after a moment. “That we can’t go back and if we don’t go forward, we’re going to be sitting in an abandoned office building for twenty-four hours with no internet and nothing to do?” He seemed to consider. “I could always see if the employee lounge has Monopoly.”

Bill thought about it. On one hand, going out there seemed pretty dangerous. On the other she really didn’t want to spend the next few hours hunched over a Monopoly game while whatever was out there passed them by. And… maybe it would be alright.

 “If we die, I’m going to kill you.”

“Fair enough.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

This wasn’t so bad, Bill thought as they strode along the pavement. At least they’d landed in the right season and the decorations were pretty to look at. She tried not to let the old fashioned look put her off entirely-- It all just reminded her too much of old people, too stuck in their ways with narrow opinions and set ideas that were okay to have because it was the common thought ‘back in their day’. Their day wasn’t today, Bill had always wanted to say but never had because what would be the point?

Also, maybe because it was Christmas or maybe because they stuck to the shadows as much as they could, some people they passed on the pavement didn’t stare at them. Of course some people also crossed to the other side of the pavement, but Bill would prefer to be avoided over the alternative.

“See?” said the Doctor. “So far so _good--!”_ His last word ended in a yelp as he tripped over an uneven section of payment for the thousandth time and went staggering forward. Bill caught his arm before he could face plant into the pavement and sighed heavily.

“Doctor you’re going to break your neck,” she said. “Probably. Can’t you take your shoes off?”

“And ruin my stockings?” he said. “These are two hundred year old Venusian silk. Not easy to get, you know, even for me.”

“Two hundred year old Venusian silk,” Bill said, giving him a look. “As in: from Venus the planet?”

“Well I don’t mean Venus the casino.” He frowned and raised his eyebrows. “But that place isn’t bad either if you don’t mind skipping out on a mountain of debt for the rest of your considerable life.”

Bill watched his face. He pushed his sunglasses up and watched her back. She screwed her mouth to one side and then shook her head.

“Sometimes I think you just like to make stuff up,” she said, resuming to walk but keeping close by his side.

“What makes you say that?”

“I mean, Venus is full of gases and that. You can’t live there and you definitely can’t get silk from there.”

“Buut?” the Doctor said and Bill had a feeling this was supposed to be a Learning Moment, so she thought. Well obviously he couldn’t mean Venus. At least not Venus now or even Venus two hundred years ago, probably.

“But you have a time machine… So…you can go into the past.” Maybe not the two hundred years ago past but-- was Venus ever able to be lived on?

“And…?”

“And the future…” Bill scratched the side of her nose, attention briefly grabbed by a man in a super bulky Darth Vadery outfit that disappeared into a shop just ahead. But even if he could go into the future, how would that make Venus and more able to live on unless… “Climate change?” No wait! She snapped her fingers. “Terra-whatever! Like those little robots!”

“Exactly! Except in this case, two hundred years ago.”

“Okay but that doesn’t make sense cos…”

She trailed off as they rounded the corner. This place must be where the nightlife was. Bars and clubs dotted either side of the road, with people and noise drifting out of them. But the people were important. Mostly men in stuffy 1950’s suits and some women too but she had suddenly found herself facing a sea of brown. Everywhere she looked, people like her. Not that there weren’t any brown people in Bristol-- but her foster mother had worked hard to keep her away from that sort. Not that Bill had ever really understood why, except for the vague feeling she was not enough of anything her foster mother had wanted.

But this… this was… nice.

“See?” The Doctor said softly. “Expect the unexpected.”

“Yeah…” Bill said, feeling warmth go through her. It was hard to say whether the Doctor had planned this or not but she gave him the benefit of the doubt-- and before things could get too sappy, said: “But you definitely don’t fit in.”

“Well I stand out everywhere. It’s the good looks. Can’t hide them.”

“Nnooot sure that’s what it is,” Bill said. The Doctor seemed not to have heard her, instead clapping his hands together and rubbing them.

“Alright. Where should we go first. We could hop around looking for something interesting or follow the sound of someone screaming for help.”

“I don’t hear anyone screaming for help,” Bill said, wondering just how good his hearing was if he was picking up screaming she wasn’t.

“No, not yet. But you never know, do you?”

“That only ever happens around you,” she said, hands in her pockets. Or at least, she never heard any screams for help before meeting him.

“Does it?” he said.

“Well well well,” said a deep voice drunk behind them and Bill’s heart sank. Here it came. They turned, the Doctor tripping a little over his own two feet. Bill wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was a big guy, dark and good looking if you were into guys. Clearly a little sloshed. He weaved slightly and leered in a brilliant white grin.

“Hey, Dolly,” he said. “Wanna go shake it in the station? Daddy’s got the bread if you got the time.”

Bill wondered if it would make it better or worse to tell him she was only into girls.

“Listen, Daddy-o,” the Doctor said and Bill covered her face with both hands. Oh God.

“Please…” she said but again he didn’t seem to hear her.

“This _it_ is not shaking anywhere near you, regardless of the dough you have. You dig?”

The man threw back his head and laughed. “I dig, I dig.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that it was finally over and they could--

The man leaned in, planting his hand on the wall on the other side of the Doctor.

“What’ll it take then, sugar?”

The Doctor grinned.

“What’ve you got?”

Bill threw up her hands. “I’m walking away now,” she said and did so. It wasn’t that she cared that the Doctor was flirting with a drunk bloke. It wasn’t that the Doctor was in drag. It was just the fact that the Doctor was flirting in drag with a drunk bloke from the 1950s that was all a little hard to take in. Also it was a lot like watching a grandfather flirt and though old people in love were cute and all there were several things she _just didn’t want to think about._

She didn’t plan to go far, but the sound of jazz filtering out of a nearby club drew her attention. She went closer, stepping out of the way as a man left , catching her foot in the door and staring at the woman singing on stage. Short and curvy, with long straightened hair and full lips with a little cute gap in her teeth.

It was…!

But then she started to sing…

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas~ Let your heart feel light~”

Her voice was beautiful, like honey. Warmth filled her from her head to her feet and she found herself leaning against the open doorway. Wanting to float in. Be under those eyes. Taste her lips but not because that would stop her beautiful voice. All of a sudden, those dark eyes fell on her and a smile seemed to play on the woman’s mouth as she sang.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas~ Make the yuletide gay~ “ And she winked. Actually winked! Right at her. Bill nearly jumped out of her skin, feeling her face heat. She would have walked right into that room then, and up on that stage, when suddenly a man filled the doorway.

“Pay or get out,” he grumbled and shut the door in her face before she could even fumble money from her pocket. Probably for the best, she thought ruefully. She doubted they’d accept anything but dollars here. At least now that the door was closed, her head felt clearer, like she’d been doused in cold water. Bill shook her head to clear it, then, curious, pressed her ear to the door, listening to the song end.

There was a round of applause, a quiet thank you and then someone said:

“More of Daisy Golding in just a few minutes, folks, but before that…”

So it _was_ Daisy Golding! Bill thought, stepping back from the door a bit and staring. Had the Doctor gotten the time right after all? No… no definitely not… But what did it mean?

“Doc--” she started, then realized he wasn’t there. A glance over her shoulder and she saw he was still being chatted up by that drunk bloke. Forget beautiful girls made of water, and tiny robots and monsters under the Thames-- this was probably the weirdest experience she’d had so far.

“Doctor,” she said, approaching him and hoping not to overhear anything she’d never be able to not think about again. Fortunately, it seemed she’d grabbed his attention right away. “Sorry to interrupt this… whatever. But can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Aw, you gotta go so soon?” the drunk bloke said.

“Duty calls,” the Doctor said with a bow, and then had to readjust his wig. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Leeds.”

“What was that about?” said Bill when they’d gone a fair distance. The drunk bloke remained on the corner, watching them and, was it her or did he actually look sad about the whole thing?

“Oh, just having a nice chat,” the Doctor said. “What up?”

“First of all, no,” Bill said, raising her eyebrows at the slang that she really didn’t want to hear coming from him.

“Right.”

“Second of all… er… how old would you say Daisy Golding is?”

“Good question…” he rubbed his chin. “I don’t remember exactly but she can’t be more than forty or fifty.”

Yeah. Dumb thing to ask him really. There was nothing forty or fifty about that picture he’d shown her, nor the woman on the stage. Still… it was something Bill could work with.

“Not, like… four or fifty hundred… right? Cos I swear I just saw her in there.” She gestured at the club. “And they called her name. Daisy Golding…”

“That’s not right…” the Doctor grinned. “Let’s go have a look shall we?”

“Okay,” Bill said. “But they want money to get in.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll sneak in. No one will notice.”

“Doctor, no offense, but you look like Marilyn Monroe on testosterone. I think someone’s gonna notice.”

“Then you sneak in and I’ll get caught in… But we should move.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Look around, Miss Potts. Have you noticed…?”

“Noticed what?” Bill said in the same tone and looked around. Other than more of those weird bulky Vaders going into clubs and things, there was nothing unusual but the drunk bloke watching them from the corner still. But he seemed alright so…

“The um… the Vaders are a bit weird, yeah,” she said, hedging her bets. “Thought it was some kind of panto or costume party or something.”

“What’s a bit weird is that Star Wars won’t come out for another ten plus years. No, they are as much out of time as we are and perhaps Miss Golding is…”

“Is she in trouble?” Bill asked, watching one of the Vader things with wide eyes. Whatever they were, it seemed like they could pack a hell of a punch.

“I don’t know. Can you try to get to her?”

Bill nodded. She would definitely try.

“Once you find her, stay put,” the Doctor said. “The more out of sight you are, the better.”

She nodded again. That was easier said than done. There was always something out there that needed doing, it seemed, when he said things like that. But it was weird, cos, looking up at him in his ridiculous dress and ridiculous wig and ridiculous makeup; she somehow trusted him completely.

“Doctor…” she murmured.

“Shh I’ll be alright, Bill.”

“…Right, yeah I figured. Only your uh…right…” she gestured to her own chest. “… is slipping.”

“What?” He clicked his tongue. “Ruddy things.” He shifted the…whatever it was back into its proper place and pushed the sunglasses up to cover his eyes. “Let’s do this.”

~*~*~*~

 

The plan seemed straightforward and simple. Maybe a little too straightforward and simple. What it boiled down to was he was going to burst in and talk very fast at everyone until he somehow got his way. Bill wasn’t entirely sure how it was going to work. Also whenever she looked over her shoulder she thought she saw those Vader things looming, though that could just be she was already half afraid of them.

The Doctor leaned against the door to the club. Counted down from three on his fingers, and then burst in, flinging the door wide.

“Alright, everyone stop what they’re doing!” he bellowed into the club, over the music of the band which faltered and stopped. “I have something important that each and every one of you needs to know!”

Silence. Now everyone was looking at them. How this was going to let her sneak in without being seen was beyond her.

“Well?” he said, stepping into the club. “Isn’t anyone going to ask? What about you? Big man by the door. What’s your name?”

“Louis.”

“Louis! Great name that. I knew a Louis. At least three of them in fact. You should have seen the house of the last one. Would have made you lose your head. Did about the same for him.”

“Look, you kook,” said the doorman. “You can’t just come in here and—”

“Oh, yes. Look about that… One moment…” and he began to lift the hem of his skirt. Bill put a hand over her face and tried not to melt into the pavement out of sheer second hand embarrassment. Just how was he planning to distract them? She felt a surge of odd relief when she saw him pull an ID wallet out of a lacy black and white garter and show it to him.

“Forgive me ,I’m a little short on pockets,” he said, grinning as a wave of a laugh went through the room. “Here you go. “ He flipped open the wallet. “I am the entertainment for this evening. Sorry I was a little late. Hard to shake the boys off with a bum like this.” Another laugh. Was this… was this comedy? How was it going to help her sneak in if everyone was looking at the door?

“I…” The man took the ID wallet and squinted at it. “Looks signed and sealed to me. But why would the owner want--”

“Oh!” the Doctor took half a step back, as if surprised, pointing at him. “Yes! Good question! _Very_ good question! After all, this is the Alabam! --Though oddly slightly renovated-- Some of the greatest musicians have played here! Ella Fitzgerald… ah…” he put a hand to his heart. “Louis Armstrong, eh, Louis!” He winked and fingergunned at the doorman. “Fats Walter, Jelly Roll Morton, Nat King Cole. And here I am,” he gestured to himself: “Skinny white man in a dress. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue.”

Laughter and this time Bill found herself smiling too a little bit. If there wasn’t danger in the air, she’d probably want to laugh too.

“Right! Excuse me--” he plucked the ID wallet from the doorman’s fingers and stuffed it into his garter, then began to walk backwards to the stage, the eyes of everyone following him. “So the question comes in three fold. Why am I in a dress. Why am I wearing sunglasses, and--” He walked up to the stage, standing in front of it. “What kind of entertainment am I going to provide you fine people on this Christmas day.”

Bill bit the inside of her lip, peering around the corner at the doorman. He seemed transfixed by the Doctor but she could see the faint light from the street sliding over his dark face and if he checked to look then that might be a problem. Nodding to herself, she ducked in, hiding herself in the shadows. He seemed to glance her way but the Doctor said:

“Louis! Brilliant man. What do you think? Why am I in a dress?”

The doorman grunted and then smirked, folding his arms.

“Not allowed to say in polite company,” he said, grinning as more laughter followed this. Even the Doctor laughed.

“You might be right. In this case, however it comes from an a very old British tradition-- which starts by getting yourself about nine sheets to the wind and deciding that, yes, you can indeed pull off silk and beads.” A beat. “Though when you’re that sloshed you’re lucky if you remember the silk.” Another rolling laugh that even the doorman got into, his deep bass rolling underneath. Bill smiled faintly, felt a little ache and let it fade as she moved further in. There were a couple of white people looking bemused in one of the corners, but for the most part there were all brown faces in this dim room, under the soft glow of Christmas lights wreathed in green.

She was tempted to sit with them. Just to be.

A flicker from the stage caught her attention and she caught sight of Daisy Golding watching from the side, mostly hidden by the curtains. Once again she seemed to look straight at Bill before disappearing back into the dark. Right. That was more important right now.

“As for the sunglasses,” the Doctor said as Bill searched around for a way to get back there. “Why would I wear them? The answer is, have you _seen_ me? “ He was on stage now and turned a leg to the audience. “On a bright day I could blind a mole at thirty paces.”

Laughter. A man nearby was laughing so hard he seemed to have trouble staying in his chair. And just beyond him Bill saw a door, almost lost it in the shadows but for the dark green bulk of a wreath. She went up to it and slowly opened it, just enough for her to squeeze out before moving to shut it just as quietly.

“I used to live on the coast but they kept trying to use me as a light house,” the Doctor was saying. “Not a bad job but I kept getting dizzy and then on foggy days all the fresh ships just keep honking at you.”

More laughing and Bill smiled to herself and shook her head. She was in a dark corridor now. A few doors on one side. She hadn’t really done theater in school and never really been to one otherwise, let alone back here, so she wasn’t quite sure what to look for. She paced until she thought she was far enough from where the stage ended and tried the door, sure it would be locked, but it opened under her hand.

There was another hallway here. Most of it was dark but, down at the end of the hall on the right, a door was open and warm light spilling out. After a moment, ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ rolled out deep and rich like from a radio or something. Taking a deep breath, and hoping it was the right one, Bill went to the end of the hall, hesitating against the wall just beside the door.

“Come in,” a honey warm voice said and Bill, relaxed only a little, turned to stand in the doorway. Daisy Golding sat at a vanity. She looked just as good as ever, but older. Not middle aged or anything but definitely not as young as the picture. Maybe it was the wrong person? But then again, Bill thought as she noted the ball of softly shifting colors floating near the ceiling, maybe not.

“What is that?” Bill said, pointing.

“A _sangeet_ , of course,” the woman said. “Just like you can buy anywhere in the Tower.”

“The Tower?” Bill said, then remembering where this woman was supposed to be from. “You don’t mean--” she grinned. “You don’t mean London Tower?”

“Well the district underneath it yes,” Daisy Golding said, seeming puzzled. But then her voice smoothed over and the honey was back in it. “Anyway, come in and have a drink.” She gestured to two small glasses of amber colored liquid sitting on the vanity. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“For me?” Sure Daisy Golding was a little old for her now, but that didn’t stop the thrill of excitement going through her. That was the first time she’d heard that from someone so gorgeous.

“Mmhm.” She patted the stool across from her. “Sit down. Have a drink.”

Bill sat, hand reaching for the glass before she even thought about it. She wrinkled her nose. Did she really want one though?

“Nah, not much of a drinker.”

“Come on, don’t be so stiff,” Daisy Golding said, looking in her eyes, fingers brushing over her knee making her toes curl. “Have a drink.”

Bill found her hand moving again. That was weird. She stopped herself with her fingers round the glass.

“But I don’t want a drink,” she said. Then remembered. “Hypno!”

“Shh,” Daisy Golding said, hand warm on her knee then. “Have a drink.”

“No… no it’s hypno. You’re trying to hypnotize me. Right?” She grinned, kind of excited about it really. “Never been hypnotized before.”

Daisy Golding made an irritated noise, snapping her fingers and catching the ball as it fell. She put it on the table a bit harder than she should have and glowered at Bill.

“Alright, so what is it you want from me? Why are you here?”

“Nothing,” Bill said. “Oh, except, you’re in trouble.”

Daisy Golding clenched her hand in her lap, her eyes blazing.

“Is that a threat?”

“What? No! No….” Bill said, holding up her hands. “Not from me… from these… big blokes in Darth Vader armor…I think…” Because the Doctor had never said for sure they were dangerous to her. For all Bill knew, they could be friends. Or maybe not as Daisy Golding was staring at her like she had no idea what Bill was even talking about. Bill wished she had more to go on than that. That was the problem traveling with the Doctor, he explained a lot except when she really needed information she somehow didn’t have it.

“I…dunno…” Bill said, trying to remember anything else that he’d noticed that might clue the woman in. “They…it was weird Darth Vader armor. Really big helmets” She put her hands out on either side of her head then narrowed them in. “Kind of thin bodies. They were…wandering around looking in clubs and things. Maybe… looking for you?”

“Oh…” The anger and confusion faded from the woman’s face, replaced with a deep sadness. She opened the drawer of her vanity and pulled out a small silver frame, setting it on her knees, looking at it. It seemed like she wanted a moment so Bill kept quiet, eyes down so the woman wouldn’t think she was staring at her. Instead, she watched Daisy Golding stroke the black velvet back of the frame with her thumb. Whoever was in that photo must mean a lot…

“I suppose…” Daisy Golding sniffed, wiped at the bottom of her eyes. “They’ll start to get agressive if the don’t find what they’re looking for…”

“I s’ppose, yeah,” said Bill because that seemed to be how it went. “Who are they?”

“Judoon, of course,” said Daisy Golding, looking puzzled. “I mean, they must be after what I’ve stolen…”

“Right, Judoon.” Another name she’d have to ask the Doctor about later. And then: “What did you steal.”

“Wh--” Daisy Golding frowned and picked up one of the drinks, looking at the amber liquid critically before she raised her eyebrows at Bill. “You didn’t drink this while I wasn’t looking did you? “

“Uh no…?”

“Well what do you think I could have stolen?”

“No idea,” Bill said, trying to grin, stuffing her hands in her pockets. The warmth of the Tardis key pressed against her finger. Oh, hang on. “No wait…” Because if Daisy Golding wasn’t centuries old and definitely wasn’t supposed to be here-- _and_ looked younger in the picture than she did now. “Some sort of time thing, right?”

“I think it’s called a vortex manipulator…” She pulled out something out of the drawer that looked like a wallet on a wristband, setting it on the vanity. She sighed. “I probably should’t’ve knocked that poor cadet out after he showed me, but I thought he’d get in less trouble that way.”

Bill stared at her and let out a breath. This woman was stronger than she looked to knock out one of the Vaders. Those things looked like they could knock a train off its tracks. Anyway, the solution seemed simple. Probably _too_ simple but…

“Well…” Bill said. “Why not just return it? Say you’re sorry?”

Daisy Golding shook her head, smiling sadly.

“I’ll have to be taken back for trial. And once I’m back….” Her eyes glinted with wet again and she leaned back, pressing a hand under her nose and looking away as if she was trying to hide the emotion. “I became the most famous singer in the galactic cluster. Nine hundred and ninety-nine billion people knew my face and name. But no one knew me. Just what they thought--” She shook her head. “Have you ever been surrounded by people and felt completely alone?”

“Yeah,” Bill said. “A lot…” And sometimes even in the same house. Just two people, her and Moira, and sometimes she felt she might as well be invisible. Unless of course she’d screwed up something or her foster mother wanted to talk about boys.

“I was tired of it,” Daisy Golding said. “Thought I would go mad from it. My contract meant I couldn’t even think of retiring for another fifty years but the thought of that--” She sniffed and thumbed a tear from her face before looking back at Bill, smiling with a sort of warm fondess-- as if Bill was an old friend. “Then I remembered someone had told me to run free… and that it would be alright…”

“But… you’re still a singer,” Bill said, trying to understand. “People know your name.”

“Here, I’m a singer under my own terms. Free to come and go as I like. Also …there’s Sequoia.” Daisy Golding turned the frame around so that Bill could see. It was a black and white picture of Daisy and another woman, tall and dark and proud, wearing a suit and a hat at an angle. They were holding hands in the photo, but even if they hadn’t been, it was obvious they were together.

“We have a daughter too,” Daisy said, leaning over to see herself. She smelled nice, Bill thought. Faintly of pine and something minty. “And a son. Quite a few nieces and nephews… All a little like us… Cast out from their lives. Their homes. Wanting to be free to be themselves, but in a place and time like this…” She narrowed her eyes, something sad and angry coming to her expression. “So difficult. Moreso than I ever imagined.”

“You’ve got a … a vortex thing,” Bill said. “You could leave.” Only she didn’t think Daisy would go alone. She didn’t know how many that vortex thing would take at a time. Still, she couldn’t leave her here in this place. The 1950s was bad enough, but from what little that Bill remembered it was going to get a lot worse before it got better. And even in 2017 it wasn’t great. Not in Britain, definitely not here in the States.

“Even if I could leave,” Daisy said, taking Bill’s hand in both of her own. “Even if I could and take all my family with me. There are still others that need a safe place. Somewhere they can call home. Some people they can call a family. Maybe I can’t change the minds of bigots and arseholes…” She smiled a little. “But if I can change just one person’s life, that’s enough for me.”

Bill couldn’t help but stare at her. She was such a small woman, but she seemed big as a star at that moment. Filled with warmth and light. How someone could just -- do that. To give up that kind of thing for others…

There was a sudden crash and scattered screams. Bill jolted and Daisy winced, pulling back, her own hands shaking as she looked toward the wall with fear. They were here. Those Judoon or whatever. Bill knew right then and there that she wouldn’t let Daisy get taken. Not from her home.

She snatched the vortex thing from the vanity, struggling to put it on. Daisy reached for her.

“What are you doing?”

“Pretending to be you,” Bill said, hoping they fell for it. “A-and even if they don’t, they’ll want this thing back, yeah? So they’ll have to catch me first.” And hopefully the Doctor could help. No she was sure he could help. He always had before.

“It doesn’t matter if they find out the truth,” Daisy said, grabbing their hands. “You’ll be imprisoned for aiding and abetting and they’ll be back--”

“Yeah but.. Maybe not for a little while.” There was another resounding crash and the whine of a microphone.

“But…”

“Just… just trust me. Even if it’s only for a few days, maybe something wonderful will happen? Anyway you’ve got people to look after.”

Daisy Golding pressed her lips together, then stepped back. Bill took it as agreement. She hurried to the door and then paused, remembering something else.

“Look, there’s this bloke, kind of big and meaty looking, called Mr. Leeds….”

“I know of him…” Daisy said.

“Right, well, I think… he could use …someone to talk to…” Then, hoping she’d go through with it, gave her the thumbs up and raced out of the room. One of the doors just opposite said: ‘stage’ and Bill wrenched it open, clambering up onto the stage, trying to go faster than she could think about, and held up her arm which had the vortex thing on it.

“I’m Daisy Golding!” And then she stared. “And you’re rhinos. Doctor. Why are they rhinos?”

“Aass I just got through saying,” the Doctor said, putting an arm on her shoulders. “There is no _Daisy_ Daisy Golding here.”

“Well you’re wrong, I’m Daisy Golding. With the vortex thing…” And--No, she couldn’t. “But seriously, rhinos? Darth Vader rhinos?”

“Yes, rhinos,” the Doctor said impatiently. “I’ll explain it later. Anyway, I lied,” he said turning back to the Judoon. “And so did she. I am Daisy Golding.”

“He’s lying,” said a man by the half open door that Bill recognized as the Leeds bloke. “I am Daisy Golding.”

“No, I am,” said a tall dark woman, standing.

“No, me, I’m Daisy Golding,” said the bassist, adjusting his small wire frame glasses with a shaking hand. More and more stood up. It was weird but in a good way. Something warm and unsettling at the same time, all these people risking their lives for her. Bill knew though it was up to her to get their attention--even though the thought of getting captured by those things.

“Great just what we needed, a Spartacus revival,”the Doctor muttered. “It’s not going to work the Judoon are just…” And then he smacked the heel of his hand to his forehead and took her shoulder once more. “Oh. Ohhhh. Oh Bill you’re brilliant. Is she still back there?”

“Yeah… but…”

“Wait right here.”

And he dashed off behind the curtains. Bill stared. Then shook her head. The rhinos were looking around, annoyed as more and more people stood. One of them fired his weapon upward, making chunks of the ceiling rain down and people shrieked and ducked for cover.

“You are all accused of aiding and abetting--”

“But they’re not,” Bill said, raising her voice and showing off the vortex again, her own hand shaking. “I am. Please… Please just take me…yeah? I’m Daisy Golding, I swear.” Because these guys taking any of Daisy’s friends would be just as difficult. To…to lose anyone…

“That’s not true…”

Bill’s heart sunk as Daisy Golding’s honey voice filled the air. She came to the stage, fluffy white hem of the snowflake dress sweeping the ground.

“Don’t you believe a word of it,” she said, spreading her hands, voice amplified and purring. The Doctor came up beside Bill then, pressing something in her hand. She turned it, opening her fingers a little and saw soft white ear plugs. He gave her a short nod and glanced up. She did, too, and saw the shimmering ball was hiding in the rafters now, out of sight.

Hypno?

But…

“There is no Daisy Golding here…” the woman said softly. “And there never has been…”

Oh… no… wait… that didn’t sound…

The Doctor tapped her wrist and gave her a glower from under his eyebrows and she suddenly got it, putting the ear plugs in. She could still hear the woman speak but it was muted. Distant.

“It’s Christmastime so let’s stop this fighting and all calm down… Come on, fellas, ladies and gentlemen, close your eyes and just breathe with me…”

The Doctor took her hand then and they ran. Down the stage steps, through the door, out into the cool night and onto the pavement. The air cleared her head and she blinked. Wait, Daisy Golding _had_ been back there. So why…

“Doctor, what--”

“Running for our lives right now. Questions later.”

Bill pressed her lips shut and followed. They raced back the way they had come and she followed, even though she wasn’t sure about it. If she remembered Daisy, those Judoon would too. The only thing that kept her from running back was the fact that she trusted the Doctor. She knew he wouldn’t just abandon the woman. She knew he had a plan. Or… at least she hoped he did.

So she kept quiet until the Doctor let go of her hand and skidded to a stop in front of the janitor’s closet, flinging it open.

“Hang on… Hang on we’re not just leaving her are we?” Bill said.

“Yes, we are, but it’ll be fine,” he said, staring at the Tardis with a hand on his glasses.

“How will it be fine? That hypno thing doesn’t last and once it wears off they’re going to know…”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“And I thought you said we couldn’t get into the Tardis for another twenty-four hours!”

He made a noise and turned toward her.

“Okay, I lied. Sort of. It’s a very long and complicated answer which I didn’t think was relevant at the time. Short version. I can get in, because I know how. But breaking a quantum lock of this nature will do this.” He snapped his fingers. There was a speckle of light and something blew out, making her stagger a bit. Then the lights went out. Everywhere. Outside too.

“LA is going to have a problem for a couple of days,” he said. “And we’re going to have a problem in a couple of minutes-- So,” He held out his hand. “Key, please.”

Bill reached into her pocket for the key, then closed her hand over it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, ‘cos she did more than almost anyone else she’d ever known but…

“… I mean… they were right there in the room with her, Doctor. How are we going to save her? If it’s just cos of me… But she’s not like me, Doctor. She’s got people to look after. A place to belong…”

“Bill, she’ll be _fine_ ,” the Doctor said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, the Judoon aren’t the brightest bulbs in the universe, so they have to depend on technology to track their prey. Usually they track by bio scanners, but Daisy Golding is just as much human as anyone else. However… she’s got one thing here no one else has…” He tapped the vortex thing. “…and now, we have it.”

“And they won’t hurt her?” Bill said.

“They won’t even be interested,” the Doctor replied. Bill thought it over, then nodded and handed him the key.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Bill sat on the lip of the Tardis, legs dangling over the side as she watched the vortex thing spin slowly away into space, backlit by gorgeous red and green nebula. It was a surreal thing. She felt happy and sad all at once and a little tired, too. She heard the Doctor come up behind her and shifted to make room as he sat with her, handing her a cup of tea, the faint light glinting off his silver shoes and the beads in his dress. She was even starting to get used to it, that was the sad thing.

“Cheers,” she murmured, sipping the warm tea that tasted slightly of mint. The taste of it made her toes curl a little. She swung her feet a little faster, and then gestured out at it: “So what’s going to happen if the Judoon find it by itself?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Return it probably. But the circuits are fried so no one is going to be able to tell when it came from.”

“That’s good…” She rested her head against the door frame, watching, the cup warm between her hands.

“She said she had a lot of people to take care of,” she murmured after a while. “But it looked like people were taking care of her too.”

“She was a good woman,” the Doctor said. “Lived a long and plentiful life. Changed her name. Opened a halfway house for troubled youth… Became a huge supporter of the LGBT movement… Had a large loving community…”

“Her family,” Bill said. The Doctor nodded.

“You’re a lot like that, too,” she said, nudging his arm. “Helping people and all that. Even when it’s hard.”

“You too,” he said, nudging her back.

“Nah… Didn’t really do much at the end of it.” Sure she’d tried, and was glad she didn’t succeed really since, being a prisoner of big rhino people? Not really something she was looking forward to. Still, everything had been taken care of. So there was no use being even a little sad over it

“You’d be surprised,” the Doctor said. “Sometimes it only takes a little to do something big.”

“Yeah, maybe…” she said, even if she wasn’t sure she entirely believed it. They watched in silence for a while. Bill finished her tea. Anyway, it was nice, she thought. Maybe she didn’t have a whole crowd of people but when she was with the Doctor, it was hard to feel lonely.

“Well…” he said, after a while. “Ready to meet the Queens?”

Bill smiled.

“Yep.”

~*~*~*~

 

5020 at last. Bill sat in the audience of a massive theater, watching Cinderella sit on a bench, sobbing brokenly into his thick reddish beard. Maybe because this place was ‘retro’ as the Doctor had said, but it didn’t seem too much different than home. Except for maybe the bio scanners in places and the odd little robots that hovered around and quietly offered people refreshments when they thought they were thirsty. Soon, he’d promised, she’d see more. But honestly, Bill was pretty content. The Queens sat up in their box, looking fantastic and holding hands light against dark-- and around her, the audience was better still. So many people and even a few aliens, she was sure. Definitely sure in the case of the one creature that seemed like an overenthusiastic sea urchin that pulsed quietly in excitement.

The lights dimmed a bit and Bill’s grin widened at the familiar wheezing sound as the Tardis materialized on stage.

“Oh my!” said Cinderella and fell off the bench, stirring up a puff of glitter. There was a moment of too long silence and then the Doctor staggered out, carrying a bottle of what seemed to be cider. Bill found herself laughing with everyone else as he held up a hand and said:

“Yo.”

“You’re late!” Cinderella growled. The Doctor drew himself up.

“A Gary Fodmother is never late! Nor are they early! They arrive precisely when they mean to.”

“And when’s that then?”

The Doctor pretended to check a watch on his bare wrist. “Half past yesterday.” Another laugh.

And then, after a moment, whispers from behind her. Excited whispers. People turning in their seat. Bill turned as well and saw what was undoubtedly Daisy Golding heading out a side door. She half stood, then sat again when she remembered it was a younger Daisy. She won’t know you, the Doctor had explained patiently. Because she hasn’t met you yet. So don’t freak out.

Well, yeah, she’d figured out that much.

But… that didn’t mean she couldn’t go and see her anyway.

“Are you going to help or what?” said Cinderella as Bill got up to leave.

“First I’m going to need a pumpkin, a bottle of supernova whiskey, and six handsome young men.”

“How’s that going to help me get to the ball?”

“Who said it was for you?” the Doctor said and the door closed behind her on the wave of laughter that followed. The foyer outside was definitely not something from the twenty first century. A window made up almost the entire wall, and, outside it, Earth hung like a jewel. They were on Her Majesty’s Coach, a satellite that cruised in an orbit around the planet, following one of the smaller moons they’d somehow got.

Daisy Golding was standing nearby, hands behind her as the ball floated near her head. Bill put her hands in her jacket pockets, trying to think of something to say to her. Something clever or bold or… even remember me? But the Doctor had told her saying cheeky things like that might only serve to make Daisy slightly paranoid. Still she wanted to say something.

“Uhhhm…. hello!” Well…it was _something_ anyway. Daisy turned to look at her and wow, she was… had been? Is a looker. Bill felt floored all over again. She looked angry for a moment, and then just tired.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “Pleasure to meet a fan as always.” She bowed her head graciously. “But I must be going…”

“No, please,” she said as the woman started to turn. “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hello,” Daisy Golding said and with another nod. “Goodbye. And please, don’t follow me.”

Aw, she didn’t want her to go away mad! This was what the Doctor was probably warning her about. This feeling of behind left behind. But she also saw the slump of Daisy’s shoulders, the way her fingers curled in as if she was trying to keep them from curling into a fist. She was still sad now. Lonely. Trapped.

Suddenly, Bill remembered something Daisy had told her and…wondered. She was from the future right now after all. And sort of from the past. Though when she’d been in the past it had been Daisy’s future and…her own past and present? She shook her head, didn’t matter. The words did, though.

“Just um… one day, fly free yeah?” she said. Daisy paused, turned, looked puzzled.

“Pardon?”

Bill grinned, hands in her pockets feeling warm.

“Fly free. And don’t worry. It’ll be alright.”

“What will?” Daisy asked which had not been in the script but Bill thought she could wing it anyway. So she just shrugged.

“Whatever. Anything. Everything. You’re gonna be just fine.” And she wanted to tell her, what little she knew of what she had seen Daisy do, the people that cared about her, the people the Doctor said would care about her. But maybe that was too much.

“Who are you?” Daisy said. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, y’know, just someone,” Bill said with a shrug, heading back for the door. Before she went in, though she smiled back out at the woman. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas…” Daisy echoed softly. Bill closed the door behind her and leaned on it, hugging her stomach and watching the Doctor wave wildly at a large radish that had appeared on stage. He had been right, of course, as he usually was. Something wonderful had happened... and she'd helped to do it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For those who need a visual reference](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b2/c2/e9/b2c2e95f63c3dc8875a956ef228fdb1b--peter-capaldi-peter-otoole.jpg)


	5. Rum pum pum pum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ace hates Boxing Day. No, really hates Boxing Day. But this one is turning out to be the worst one ever.

[Rum Pum Pum Pum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DT1fA59oH7Q)

 

Ace wakes to the Doctor rapping sharply on her door.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She groans and gropes around, squinting at the alarm clock with one eye. Seeing the time makes her groan again and she buries her face back in the pillow.

“Professor, it’s only seven!”

“Come on!” he calls.

She sighs and sits up, giving her hair a quick brush. It’s not so bad and she’s actually a bit happy now that she’s slowly waking up. He’s been a bit droopy these past few days and it was nice to see him perky again. It usually meant something interesting was going on. She just wishes it wasn’t going on at seven in the morning.

A few minutes later, she comes yawning into the control room and smiles, rubbing an eye, as she hears him humming “Jingle Bells” to himself and flipping switches.

“Good morning,” she says, smiling a bit as she rubs at an eye.

“Good morning.” He smiles. Then frowns. “You’re not going out like that, are you?”

“Like what?” Ace says, looking down at herself. It’s a clean jumper and skirt and black stockings, nothing unusual. He clicks his tongue.

“Not festive at all. That won’t do. Not to worry, I’ve got just the thing.” He hooks his umbrella over his arm and comes to pin something to her lapel. She can’t help but notice he has a sprig of holly in the band of his hat and when he steps back sees he’s given her a little shiny Christmas tree pin.

“Is it Christmas?” she asks, excited and confused all at once. She hadn’t _thought_ it was Christmas or anywhere near it, but time had a way of getting away from her in the Tardis and most of the time she wasn’t even sure the day of the week, let alone the month.

“Even better than that,” he says with enthusiasm. “It’s Boxing Day.”

“Oh _no._ ” Ace wrinkles her nose. “Professor, I hate Boxing Day. Everything gets so crowded and the most people ever want to buy are clothes and shoes and that.” And she is usually dragged along for the ride and made to sit on benches and not wander off, which she always does— or used to do, and got scolded after. But really they shouldn’t make a huge art thingy outside of a department store if they don’t expect kids to climb it.

“There’s the greatest bazaar in the galaxy right outside that door and if we’re lucky we’ll be able to find just the spare parts we’ll need.”

“For what?” asks Ace. The Tardis seems to have been in pretty good shape for a while now and they eventually did replace the spatula they’d been using for a lever only last week— or at least she thought it was last week.

“You never know when you’ll need spare parts.”

“Mmh…” That _was_ true, but she still didn’t see why she had to go. Of course staying locked up in the Tardis was going to be naff and boring but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Come on, cheer up.” He puts his hand on the lever. “I hear the fireworks tent is very good this year.”

“Fireworks?” Ace says, brightening a little.

“Make your own,” he says, bouncing his eyebrows.

“Oh, _ace_!”Now that is something worth shopping for. “Oh! Hold on let my get my nitro…” The Doctor puts an arm around her shoulders and steers her back toward the console.

“We’re not trying to blow up the whole bazaar.” He flicks her nose. “And if anything catches fire because of you I’m going to be a bit put out.”

“Yeah alright I’ll be good,” she says. Then grins: “Can’t promise though.”

He raises a finger at her in joking warning and then pulls down the lever. The doors open up and the sights and sounds of the bazaar spill in. There are tents and stalls with cloth awnings everywhere. Everything is decked out with trees and garland and whizzing pinwheels that fly through the air and fantastic floating lights and stars and even a glimpse of a ferris wheel. She can smell all sorts of delicious foods frying and there’s a man spinning sparkling fairy floss just a few feet from the doors.

“Professor, it’s _amazing_!” she says. Then sighs. “But I haven’t got any money.”

“You don’t _have_ any money,” he says. “And yes you do. Credit bar.” Like magic a short fat peppermint stick appears in his hand. “Now, on that is 60,000 rhonmarks which works out to 900 behrrrrums, and 70 Quintillion yeppas because inflation in the Yeep Belt is out of control, believe you me, not a pretty place.”

“Alright but what does that work out in pounds?” she asks as he leads her outside and shuts the door of the Tardis, locking it.

“About seventeen fifty,” he says, pocketing the key.

“Oh…” She frowns. It’s not great but maybe she can make a whole mess of little rockets, and maybe some more blast caps if they’re tiny, because she needs those.

“I mean it without the decimal point,” he says.

“Aw bit-- I mean, brill!” she says, catching the Doctor’s look.; She keeps the credit bar out long enough to buy a stick of fairy floss as big as her head and afterwards eats it happily as she tails him through the market.

“All sorts here,” she says as she moves out of the way of a 10 foot creature that looked like a tree and nearly into a squabble of red cloaked and masked figures. They have to stop then as a small procession of penguins in suits waddles by, two of them carrying a much fatter penguin dressed in silks and jewels on a sedan chair. This penguin waves at them and the Doctor doffs his hat at them with a polite nod.

“You know them?” Ace asks when they pass.

“No, but it never hurts to be polite.

“Glitz would love a place like this,” Ace says, dumping the paper cone in a nearby rubbish bin but the Doctor catches it before it can fall far.

“My sincere apologies,” he says and the bin squabbles at them irritably before tottering off.

“Watch where you’re throwing things, Ace,” he says. “If you’re going to throw things away, make sure it’s in a place clearly marked.” He drops it in what looks like a potted plant wreathed in garland that has some writing round the edge that she can’t read.

“Well what’s that say then? Rubbish here?”

“No. Mind the Teeth.”

Before she can ask fangs grow out of the dirt and eat the cone right down.

“Cor! Does it like rubbish then?”

“It likes pretty much anything, “ replies the Doctor, dusting off his hands and starting through the crowd once more. Ace follows but glances over her shoulder at the plant, watching something that looked like a cross between a string bean and a hippo drop a broken vase into it. The plant crunches it up with the sound of grinding glass.

“We need to get one of those.”

“No we don’t. I don’t trust what you’ll try to feed it.”

“Well I’m not going to blow it up,” Ace says, hands in her pockets. Sure she’d go after stuff that needed blowing up like a Dalek or something, but she wasn’t going to hurt a plant.

“Mm, not intentionally anyway,” The Doctor says. “And if you think Glitz would like this place, think again.” He jabbed his umbrella skyward, pointing out one of the stars that glimmered in mid-air. “Security bots. Video and audio feeds and, with a press of a button?” He snaps his fingers. “Space dust.”

“He wouldn’t like this place,” Ace agreed. Then: “Do you think we can buy one of them? I bet I could modify it so-”

“No, Ace. We’re here for parts. Anyway, I thought you didn’t like shopping.”

“Well I like it when we’re shopping for interestin’ things.”

“Interest _ing. Ing_. Don’t drop your ‘g’s. What did they ever do to you?”

“Fine, _intresting,_ ” she says, rolling her eyes. “Blimey, you’re fussy today.”

“Well you never know who might be watching. Wouldn’t want to drop your ‘g’ in front of the Queen of England, would you?”

“No I guess not…” But she didn’t think they’d see her around here.

“Now then…” he pats around in his coat before pulling out piece of paper that he shook out to unfold into several more pieces. “First of all we need the linchpin to a oscillating stabilizer…”

Ace tunes him out since she can’t understand half of it anyway and lets her gaze wander. There are a lot of interesting things here. Clothes and shoes and jewelry sure. But also snow globes and hover boards and pins and a stall selling what looks like a Cyburnean Satellite Point. 9 Retractable Uzi with a built in scope that she saw an ad for once in one of Glitz’ s skin mags. The man behind the counter straightens as if he caught her watching and smiles at her with cat green eyes.

“Hey, Professor, I’m just going to--”

“No, Ace,” he says. “Not today. This way…”

Groaning, she follows him.

A few hours later and she’s got a shopping bag full of various parts and is finishing what looks like a squid on a stick and tastes like Yorkshire pud filled with a very angry chicken. She sucks in a mouthful of air to soothe the stinging sensation and, seeing another rubbish plant nearby, drops it in. The teeth come out and she grins as she watches it gnash the thing down.

There is a small popping noise and some gut instinct makes her lean back before the thing belches a stream of fire into the air, setting its own leaves ablaze. Ace yelps and grabs the jug of lemonade from a creature’s tray.

“You’ll have to pay for that!” the heads burble. Ace slaps her credit bar on the tray and then pours the lemonade over the plant, choking at the smoke that comes off it.

“Sorry, little mate,” she says when the smoke clears revealing nothing but a charred stick and piteously moving teeth. “Um.. Can I do anything to help?”

“I am sure, it will be fine,” says a deep accented voice and Ace looks up to see the cat-eyed man from the uzi stall. He was mad handsome up close with dusty blond hair over tanned skin and a jaw that you could make granite out of.

“Yeah? I think I hurt it a little.”

“But see? It is already starting to return.”

He gestures with a flair of his fingers and she sees the stick starting to turn brown again and little budding nubs start to come out the sides.

“That’s alright then,” she says, pleased. And then wonders what else she can feed it.

“I saw you were looking at my wares,” the man says. “I wonder if you would like to have another look.”

“Oh yeah! _Would_ I?” she says. “I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on one of those ever since I saw it. They said it was lightweight, which I’ve gotta see because something that size must have one hell of a kick-- er I mean… a good kick.”

He laughs and makes even that look good. His elegant hand finds her elbow.

“This way, then,” he says and begins to lead her back through the crowd. Ace shifts away from him, suddenly conscious of the bags hanging from her wrist.

“Yeah, that’s fine! I still want to look but I better drop these off with the Professor.” Only, where did he go? She can’t see him at all in this mess.

“Professor!” she calls. Then cups her hand over her mouth: “ _Professor!_ ” But there’s no answer. “Where’d he get off to?”

“If you’re talking about your ah, rather eccentric companion, I saw him back my stall way. Perhaps looking for you?”

“Yeah?” Ace says. “Wonder how he got back there so quick. Oh well! Might as well catch up, right?” And since she’s there she might as well look at a Cyburnean Satellite Point. 9 Retractable Uzi while she’s in town. “Name’s Ace, by the way.”

“Thetas Rem,” the man says with a chuckle. He offers his arm.”Shall we?”

She gladly takes it and lets herself be escorted back to the stall. The Doctor doesn’t seem to be around at all, but the Tardis isn’t parked far so she isn’t worried. So long as she knows where it is, they can meet back there.

“She’s a beauty,” Ace says instead, rounding on the uzi. Theta strokes his fingers over it.

“Not the only beauty,” he says and she grunts, pretending she didn’t know what he meant even as her cheeks sting.

“Care to step inside and negotiate a price?” he says, pulling back a curtain on the side of the stall that hadn’t looked like a doorway before now.

“Well I don’t know if I’m going to _buy_ it.” The Doctor probably won’t be pleased and it’s not as if she doesn’t have uzis of her own in the Tardis.

“Buy. Not buy. What’s the harm of a little negotiation? You may as well find the price.”

It seems weird to go in. Dangerous, even, and not in the fun way.

“But if you are afraid, little girl,” he says, and starts to drop the curtain.

“I’m not afraid,” Ace says, brushing it back and giving him a hard glare into those pretty eyes. “And I’m not a little girl. I’ll talk prices with you but I’m not promisin’ anythin’.

“Of course, of course,” he says with an elegant gesture. “As you wish.”

But she has the feeling he’s laughing at her.

Instead of giving into that, she lifts her chin and stomps into the room. It’s small and cosy with plush chairs around a central table and a fireplace in one corner. A Christmas song wafts through the air, just on the edges of hearing and it’s familiar but she doesn’t know the name of it. That’s fine. She’s tired of Christmas anyway. She flops in one of the squishy chairs where she can see the fire.

“Tea?” Thetas says, moving into another room before she can answer.

“Yeah sure!” Ace calls back even if tea is the last thing she wants to have. Once he’s gone though she gets up and begins to poke around, seeing what she can see. There’s not much in the way of decoration. Various kinds of guns on display on one low table. One of them looking like a six shooter. There are some books without titles, a plant in a vase, an orb with softly shifting colors. There’s something else, too, hidden behind a long blue curtain. At first she thought it was the entrance to another room but then she notices the odd bulk of it. She reaches for the curtain.

“Cream and sugar?” he says, voice closer and she whirls around, hair whipping her in the face. Had he seen? No, he’s not even in the room, though a second later he comes and stands in the doorway, giving her a questioning look.

“Yeah, lots.”

“As you wish,” he says again. Gestures. “Have a seat.”

She has a seat. Kicks her legs absently. He comes out again, bearing two cups and saucers and gives one to her.

“Cheers,” she says, slumping back in her seat but unsure if she wants to drink it.

“Drink,” he says. “There is no poison here.”

She drinks. It’s hot and sweet and good. The Christmas song starts over.

“Doesn’t it drive you half mad listening to that?”

He shrugs. “Here it is always this time. One gets used to it. Now…for the price, let me write it out for you…” He bends over and begins to scratch on a piece of paper. Ace turns her attention to the fire, watching the gold and red crackling flames, always dancing, always changing. Beneath it the log is black except where it’s seamed with red and there are red coals like rubies underneath.

“Isn’t it enchanting?” Theta says in a warm soothing voice. “Can’t you just watch it forever? Lose yourself in it.”

“Yeah…” she murmurs.

“Watch the flames. See them dance. Watch them flicker and try to glean what they say…”

She watches. They almost seem to speak to her. Voices she can’t quite understand but she wants to. They sound important. They sound lonely. She feels half asleep, any moment now going to give into the warm darkness.

“Ace!”

The Doctor’s voice filters in and she jerks awake. The man is staring at her, his eyes like flickering flames.

“You know, I think I should go. Thanks for the tea and all.”

“Of course,” the man says as she grabs her bags and heads for the curtain that makes up the door. “Come back any time.”

“Sure,” Ace says, ducking out into the cool air. Though she’s not sure she will. At all. Ever.

“A— oh there you are,” the Doctor says. “I was going to show you the fireworks tent…”

“That’s great, Professor!” she says, hurrying to catch up. “Only, oh no!” She pulls up short as she remembers. “I’ve lost my credit bar with the lemonade persons.”

The Doctor clicks his tongue. “Careless, careless. But nevermind, there’s more were that came from. Come along.”

She followed him gratefully. Only, as she left, she couldn’t help but feel green eyes boring in between her shoulder blades.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ace wakes to the Doctor rapping sharply on her door.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She groans and gropes around, squinting at the alarm clock with one eye. Seeing the time makes her groan again and she buries her face back in the pillow.

“Professor, it’s only…” she stares at the clock again with both eyes open. “…six!”

“Come on!” he calls.

She blinks at the alarm clock a few more times, then shakes her head and sits up, giving her hair a quick brush. It’s not so bad… Since he’s been a bit droopy lately and he must have found something interesting… She just wishes it wasn’t going on …six in the morning. She stares at the clock once more. Definitely is. 6.

“Must’ve slept too hard,” she says, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her back. Had to be it.

A few minutes later, she comes yawning into the control room and smiles, rubbing an eye, as she hears him humming …

“That’s not Jingle Bells…”

“Hm?” he looks up at her, flicking a switch. “No, it isn’t. Got a catchy tune though. Rum pum pum pum… I like that you came out looking festive, by the way. Very perceptive of you.”

“Festive…?” Ace says, looking down at herself. She’s wearing a clean jumper and skirt and black stockings. Nothing unusual. “Oh… this?” She touches the Christmas tree pin on her lapel, watching it shine and flicker in the light. “Is it Christmas?”

She hadn’t… thought it was, but it felt like it somehow… The same kind of lingering taste… Fairy floss and peppermint…

“Even better than that,” the Doctor says with enthusiasm. “It’s Boxing Day.”

“Oh _no._ ” Ace wrinkles her nose. “Professor, I _hate_ Boxing Day…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Everyone wants to buy clothes and shoes and that…”

“Yeah…” Ace says, surprised and weirdly confused that he feels the same way. “Professor…” She stops, because she doesn’t know what to say. Everything feels a bit shifted to one side.

“Anyway, there’s the greatest bazaar in the galaxy right outside that door and if we’re lucky we’ll find just the spare parts we’ll need.”

“For what?” the words are in her head but it feels strange. What is it. Why is everything so weird today? Maybe it’s just because of Boxing Day and bad memories.

“You never know when you’ll need spare parts,” the Doctor says. “Come on, cheer up.” He puts his hand on the lever. “I hear the fireworks tent is very good this year.”

“Fireworks?” Ace says, brightening a little.

“Make your own,” he says, bouncing his eyebrows.

“Oh, _ace_!” She pushes the weird feelings aside for now. What’s that compared to making fireworks? “Oh, hold on, let me get my nitro.” But too late, the Doctor has his arm around her and is leading her back toward the console.

“We’re not trying to blow up the whole bazaar.” He flicks her nose. “And if anything catches fire because of you I’m going to be a bit put out.”

“Yeah… alright, I’ll be good,” she says, absently rubbing her nose. He gives her a look that’s hard to read but she thinks he’s a little worried about her. Honestly she’s a little worried about her too. She grins up at him.

“Can’t promise though,” she says as if it’s nothing. He raises a finger in joking warning and then pulls down the lever. The doors open up and the sights and sounds of the bazaar spill in. It’s all pretty great, she’s got to admit. Eyecatching and exciting and she wants to go out and buy awesome things but…

“It’s deja vu,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Deja vu. I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” he says, producing a short fat credit bar shaped like a peppermint stick. “Unless you came with Glitz.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t like it here.” Or.. Maybe he would? Why did she have the feeling he’d have a problem with this place.

“Not with security this tight,” he says pointing his umbrella at one of the floating stars. “Those will stop any thief of fraudster in their tracks. Permanently.”

“Space dust,” Ace says.

“Precisely,” he replies. “Now listen, Ace, this is a Credit Bar. On it is 60,000 rhonmarks which works out to 900 behrrrrums, and 70 Quintillion yeppas because inflation in the Yeep Belt is out of control, believe you me, not a pretty place.”

“Which works out to be seventeen fifty without the decimal…” she says. He pauses, in the middle of locking the Tardis, and squints at her.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Must be something I picked up.” She shrugs. “I’m a whiz at math. Or basic stuff anyway.”

“Yes,” he says, still squinting. Then shrugs and pockets the key. They make their way through the market. Ace buys some sparkly fairy floss and eats it though she’s not particularly hungry. They avoid the ten foot tree man, stop for a procession of penguins who the Doctor doffs his hat to them with a polite nod. She nearly throws the empty paper cone of the fairy floss into an alien shaped like a rubbish bin before she remembers and throws it in the plant, watching the teeth shred it.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” the Doctor says.

“Am I? I just don’t know what to say I guess.” She puts her hands in her pockets. “This place is pretty brill only…I don’t know. Something’s weird about it.”

“Hm. Well you wouldn’t be wrong if you called it …bazaar.”

“ _Ouch,_ Professor! That pun!” Though it was kind of funny in an old man trying to make a joke kind of way. He grins then pats around in his coat before pulling out piece of paper that he shook out to unfold into several more pieces. “First of all we need the linchpin to a oscillating stabilizer…”

Ace tunes him out since she can’t understand half of it anyway and lets her gaze wander. There are lots of interesting things here. Her eyes light on a weapons stall, selling Cyburnean Satellite Point. 9 Retractable Uzi and then the man above it who is watching her with green eyes like flame.

“Hey, Professor…., I’m just going to--”

“No, Ace,” he says. “Not today. This way…”

“But…” she says, squinting at the man.

“Not on your life,” he says. “Come on.”

She follows him with a sigh. The man with the green eyes watches her go.

A few hours later, she’s dumping the lemonade on the poor plant, wondering why she’d wanted that squid on a stick when she knew it’d be horrible.

“Sorry little mate,” she murmurs, watching the little teeth gnash.

“I am sure, it will be fine,” says the green eyed man behind her and she stiffens and turns. She wants to back away but she’s not afraid of anything and why should she be afraid of him anyway.

“I don’t want that uzi,” she says, lifting her chin.

“No? Pity. But I have so many other wares.” He leans in, smiling. “What’s the harm in looking?”

“I don’t…”

“Come… This way…” As he speaks, the fire seems to flicker in his green eyes.”Your companion is waiting nearby…”

“Oh, yeah…” The Doctor… they were going to meet? She feels like she’s dreaming as she follows him back through the market. Just to look. There’s no harm in looking, is there? And the Doctor is there. When they get to the stall, the man pushes back the curtain and she steps into the sitting room, flopping in a chair and staring at the fire. The music playing over and then again. What is that tune? She knows it but not the name…

“Tea?” he says.

“Yeah, sure…”

She feels the need to move and gets up, starting to poke around. Guns and books and something behind a long blue curtain. She reaches for it.

“Cream and sugar?” he says, voice closer. She starts to turn, startled, but grabs the curtain at the same time. His green eyes narrow.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says.

“Why not?” Ace murmurs. And pulls. Sees a glint of silver.

 

~*~*~*~

The Doctor is rapping sharply on her door.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

Ace peels one eye open. The bed is so soft and she doesn’t want to leave it. Not for anything. She feels sick. Something is weird.

“Professor…” she murmurs, groping for her alarm clock and staring at it. “It’s five o’clock.” A horrible time to get up for anyone… but…

“Come on!” he calls.

She pushes herself up, groaning, hair hanging down around he face. She’s tempted to leave it down but then it just gets everywhere. Anyway, she’d better do something because he seems in a cheerful mood today which means everything’s going to be fast paced and exciting. Though, somehow, she just can’t seem to get into it.

“Wake up, Ace,” she says, patting her own cheeks. “Get a move on.” It’s not so bad, him perky. She just wishes she could wake up. She fumbles her brush off the table and startles as she sees someone watching her from the other side of the room.

But it’s just the mirror, she realizes, feeling silly.

“You’re in fine form today,” she mutters, trying to brush her hair into order.

A few minutes later, she comes yawning and staggering into the control room, rubbing an eye. It’s the song again.

“Da da de do do do Rum pum pum pum.”

“I know that song,” she says, trying to blink the burning sleep from her eyes. “What’s the name of it?”

“Hm?” he looks up at her, flicking a switch. “You look awful. I told you not to stay up all night reading.”

“I wasn’t…!” Ace says. Well maybe it was a few hours more than she should but… but she hadn’t expected to be… woken up… at all.

“Looking festive today, by the way. Very perceptive of you.”

“Yeah…” She strokes the Christmas tree pin with a thumb. Funny, she couldn’t quite remember where it had come from; though she had a feeling it was new. “Listen, Professor, can’t we skip it for today?”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Boxing Day and there’s the greatest bazaar in the galaxy right outside that door.”

“I hate Boxing Day,” she says with a sigh. She feels like she’s lived a dozen already. “Can’t we just skip it today?”

“Nonsense! Sales like this only come around every so often, and if we’re lucky we’ll find just the spare parts we’ll need.”

“For what?” she says, and then, remembering. “You never know when you’ll need spare parts.”

“You’ll—” the Doctor says, then gives her a fleeting smile. “Yes, exactly.” He puts his hand on the lever. “Come on, cheer up. I hear the fireworks tent is very good this year.”

Normally she’d be all over that but somehow— it’s not doing anything for her. In fact she feels like if she hears about fireworks never again it’ll be too soon.

“Make your own,” the Doctor says, bouncing his eyebrows.

“That’s great and all but…” She fingers the Christmas tree pin again, frowning.

“Hmm? But what, Ace?”

“I dunno. Something’s gone weird. Don’t you feel it? Like something’s happening?”

He pauses, gets a waiting look— slow and patient as if checking the wind. Then he smiles again.

“No, not really. You’re probably just overtired. Now, come on, the bazaar awaits. And try not to blow up anything this time,” he says, flicking her nose. She rubs it.

“Didn’t blow up anything the _last_ time,” she grumbles. Only, there was no last time, was there?

The doors open and she sees the bazaar which looks great and all, but she’d really rather go back to bed. Still she takes the credit bar from the Doctor and reluctantly buys fairy floss from the vendor and only eats a little before dumping it in the rubbish plant.

“Professor, I know I’ve been here before,” she says, spotting the tent with the weapons on it. “Maybe with Glitz but…”

“Not with security this tight. Those will stop any thief of fraudster in their tracks. Permanently.”

“Space dust, yeah I know. But…hang on, it’s out of order, isn’t it?” she says, looking at the credit bar in her hand. “You haven’t told me about this.”

He stares then smiles.

“What that? I thought you already knew. I’m sure we’ve gone over it before. Stop being so silly.”

“I’m not being silly,” Ace mutters. But maybe she is because it makes more sense that she’s just really tired and everything has that shifty sideways feel because she hasn’t woken up yet. After all, she’d hardly remember the rhonruums on a Credit Bar without having heard of it before, right?

The man behind the stall on the weapons shop is watching her, smirking at her with fire green eyes. She remembers the weird taste of sugar and peppermint and sticks out her tongue. The more she stares at him, the stronger the sensation gets that she has done this. Or at least that things are going strange…

“Hey, Professor…., I’m just going to--”

“No, Ace,” he says. “Not today. This way…”

“But…” she says, squinting at the man.

“Not on your life,” he says. “Come on.”

She follows him with a sigh. The man with the green eyes watches her go. She watches him back as long as she can until the stall is out of sight. Then she hangs back, letting the Doctor get swallowed by the crowd before she pivots and hurries back to the stall, having to stop for a small parade of penguins. The one on the chair waves at her and Ace bobs her head.

“How d’you do,” she says, annoyed at them being so slow. Finally the way is clear and she dives through the curtained doorway, looking away from the fire and reaching for the curtain at the far end, pulling it with a tear of fabric, listening to the song repeat the same notes over and over. She can see parts of the ceiling above the thing. Is it another doorway? Or…?

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._

A hand grabs her wrists.

“Oh no,” says the man in a cat-like voice. “Not yet.”

Ace elbows him in the gut.

~*~*~*~

 

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum_

The Doctor is rapping sharply on her door.

Ace stares blankly at her own hand, curled up in the blanket. She’s so tired it doesn’t even feel like it belongs to her. Like it’s a hand that she controls but only in a vague, fuzzy way.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She stares at the alarm clock. Four o’clock. Her heart hammers like she’s been running uphill.

“Come on!” he calls.

She doesn’t want to come on. She feels like she has been coming on. Something’s _definitely_ wrong. Grumbling to herself, she sits up and tugs on her jacket, not even bothering with her hair, then stomps out to the control room where the Doctor is humming that song. The same four notes over and over.

“Can’t you sing something else?” she snaps.

“I wasn’t singing. I was humming.” He smiles at her and Ace’s fingers twitch. She’d never think of strangling him because he’d saved her from so much, though mostly a boring empty life in Perivale. Though she was almost wishing she could wish to strangle him at this moment.

“Looking festive today by the way. Very perceptive of you.”

“I hate this stupid thing,” she says. “And I hate Boxing Day.”

“Oh come on, Ace. Cheer up. There’s the greatest bazaar in the world right outside that door.”

Ace is tempted to mutter something very rude about what that great bazaar can do to itself, but doesn’t. She doesn’t want to be corrected. She’s tired of being corrected.

“I thought it was the galaxy,” she mutters folding her arms, somehow glad to correct _him_ for once.

“Mm, I thought so, too. But things are a little smaller than they appear to be.” He gives her a look. Then: “Anyway, sales like this only come around every so often, and if we’re lucky we’ll find just the spare parts we’ll need.”

“We don’t need spare parts. We’ve replaced the spatula, haven’t we? I think you’re just trying to get me to go outside. Well I won’t.

“You’re probably just overtired,” he says flicking her nose.

“I’m not—!” but she is. So tired. He continues speaking as if he hasn’t heard.

“Now come on, the bazaar awaits. And try not to blow anything up this time.”

Oh, she is going to blow something up. She just doesn’t know _what_. She pulls the lever to open the doors and storms out, nearly mowing down the alien rubbish bin and doesn’t bother to apologize. There it is. That stall. She knows that stall. She doesn’t know how she knows it but she knows it’s the thing that’s ticking her off the most.

“Ace, wait!” the Doctor calls. “What are you doing?”

“Can I help you?” the cat eyed man says as she storms up to his stall, the music coming from there, too. It’s driving her absolutely barmy.

“Yeah.” She hefts the Cyburnean Satellite Point. 9 Retractable Uzi onto her shoulder, the robot stars buzzing to angry red life above her as she peers through the scope. “Duck.”

There is a roar in her ears as the uzi goes off an the cat eyed man laughs just before everything is engulfed in a wall of flame.

~*~*~*~

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. _Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum.__

It’s three o’clock and the Doctor is rapping on her door. She wants to break the umbrella over her knee and feed the parts to the rubbish plant.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She mimes his words silently to herself and digs the heels of her hands against her forehead. What is going _on_. Is she dreaming? Can she not wake up? She sits up and pulls on her jacket angrily… Then decides sod everything and flops back down again. She is going to go back to sleep and maybe, _maybe_ she’ll get out of this mad whatever it is. She closes her eyes and is just drifting off when:

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._

Three o’clock. Doctor rapping on her door.

“I’m not going!” she snaps, but he doesn’t seem to hear her.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She groans and pulls the pillow over her face. She’s not moving from this bed. She’s just not. Not for fireworks or uzis or the Doctor or anything. She settles back into the soft warmth, eyes closed, just drifting off:

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She screams and throws the pillow at the door.

“Come on!” the Doctor calls.

She gets up, hair falling all over her face so she yanks it back in a messy knot. Then gets up and storms to the console room. The Doctor is humming. The lines. “ _Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._ ”

Ugh that sound is going to drive her absolutely crazy!

“Good morning, Ace,” the Doctor says, watching her with dark eyes. “You’re looking festive today. Very perceptive of you.”

“Yeah yeah.” She tromps to the lever and pushes the doors open, peering outside into the bazaar. If she goes out further she can see the stall is still there. The cat-eyed man behind it.

“Something _is_ going on, Professor,” she mutters darkly. She knows it is. The music is even louder. She can hear it from here, faint, but growing. And the whispers too. She doesn’t get the whispers. It’s not whispering anything she can understand. Just, whispers. Like a thousand sighs.

The Doctor steps out behind her, locking the door before slipping the key into his pocket. “Come along then, Ace. Places to go. Parts to get. Don’t blow anything up.”

“What if I want to?” she says. “What if I want to blow _everything_ up? It’s not going to make a difference, is it?!” She’s shrieking it. She feels like she can hardly breathe. Even her pulse is _Rum pum pum pum-_ ing in her ears. He watches her with both eyebrows raised, then rests his chin on the umbrella handle as if thinking about it.

“Nonsense, Ace. Plenty will change. People will bereft of their livelihoods, there’ll be too many cases of smoke inhalation to count, The Great Dengin Order will be missing their thirty-third Princess of the Lowlands…”

“So you did know them,” Ace mutters to herself. Of course he did.

“…You’ll probably be reduced to space dust,” he says, pointing at the stars that are floating above. “But, interestingly enough, one thing _won’t_ change,” he says, watching her again.

“Yeah? What’s that.”

He smiles. “It’ll still be Boxing Day.”

She wants to scream again.

She wants to sit on the ground and do nothing.

She wants to stop the tune in her head, going over and over and over and over.

“Cheer up,” the Doctor says. “ I hear the fireworks tent is very good this year.”

She follows him as he moves ahead, hands in her pockets, not even caring she didn’t get a credit bar yet. She doesn’t care about fireworks or anything like that. What’s the point? They never seem to get there anyway.

But— hang on, maybe she’s missing something. It’s not like this is real life, is it? It’s like a dream or a test or something. She just has to find a way to pass it or get out of it. But how? She glances up and her eyes light on the weapons stall and the cat-eyed man behind it. She can’t figure it out. She just can’t get it from here.

But maybe…

“Sorry, Professor,” she says, doubling back to the weapon’s stand. “Just one more time.”

“Hm?”

She picks up the uzi and aims it right at the cat-eyed man’s face. He smirks, then laughs as she turns it aside and fires into the shop instead.

~*~*~*~

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._ _Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._

Ace stares at the ceiling. She can barely move. She barely wants to. It’s two o’clock.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

She rolls her eyes to the door. That’s probably the twelfth time now. Each time the same. She doesn’t get what it means except time is repeating itself and she’s almost too tired to do anything about it.

The rapping comes again.

“Come on, Ace! Let’s get going! Up, up,up!”

“I’m coming,” she groans, finally able to roll herself upward in bed. She pulls on her jacket slowly and begins to brush her hair, blinking blearily at her reflection in the mirror. She looks _awful_. Like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Her cheeks look hollowed out, too, as if she hasn’t eaten either.

“Come on!” the Doctor calls. She pulls her hair into a ponytail. Gets out of bed. Slogs to the control room, feeling like a slug. The Doctor is flicking switches, humming the same bars.

“The Little Drummer Boy,” she says, finally placing it. But what does that mean?

“Hm? Yes. I s’ppose it is,” the Doctor says. “Good morning, Ace. You’re looking festive today, by the way. Very perceptive of you.”

He keeps saying that, too. She feels the words have been burned into her brain. Funny thing is, she can’t remember where the pin even came from. It’s just there as if it’s always been. But that’s silly. Nothing has always been. Everything starts somewhere. She’s collected every badge and patch on this jacket because it meant something to her. But when she looks at them, the ones with words are sort of smudged and backwards, like how in dreams you can’t really read anything.

“Professor,” she says, stroking it with a thumb. “Is it Christmas?”

“Even better than that,” he says sounding oddly warm. “It’s Boxing Day.”

“Yeah… Sort of figured…”

So, the Little Drummer Boy. Boxing Day. The pin that didn’t have a beginning. How does it all connect? She can’t see the lines or maybe she’s too tired. She listens to the Doctor babble about this and that and leans away from his finger when he tells her not to blow anything up and goes to flick her nose.

“Ace?”

“I’m not a kid, you know,” she says, though is too tired to even sound annoyed about it. He stares at her a moment, then gives her a smile.

“Never mind. The bazaar awaits!” He levers open the doors. She lets him go ahead of her. She doesn’t know much of what’s going on-- but there is one thing she can do. She takes off the pin and sets it on the console before following him out into the market.

“Would you like a credit bar?” the Doctor says hopefully after a while. She stifles a yawn with her hand.

“No thanks, Professor…”

What else? What other connections could there be other than that stupid music? She’s even starting to get used to it now except at odd moments where it sets her teeth on edge.

“Well suit yourself. But try not to even look like you’re stealing something.” He points upward.

“I know, I know. Space dust.” That keeps coming up too. What does _that_ mean? She sighs and looks at the weapons shop and then away, at her own feet. There’s got to be a way out of this if only she can _think_.

A glint catches her eye and a chill raises the hairs on the back of her neck as she sees the Christmas tree pin on her lapel. She knew she’d taken it off. She _knew she did._

“Now then…” the Doctor says, pulling out his list. “First of all we need the linchpin to a oscillating stabilizer…”

Ace side steps, taking off the pin quickly while he’s distracted and dropping the pin into the rubbish plant. Nothing happens and she gives the pot a quick, irritated shake. The teeth open. The pin crushes between them in a shower of red and gold sparks like fire.

~*~*~*~

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum.  Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._

Oh, no.

“Come on, Ace--”

“I’m up!” she bellows, her voice scratchy in her throat. One o’clock. She sits up and rubs her head, trying to remember. This happens when… she pulls the curtain from the shop, when she blew up the shop, when she tried to destroy the pin. It’s there again, on her jacket, undamaged. She strokes a thumb against it. If she goes out, the Doctor will say she’s perceptive.

Maybe he was trying to give her a hint. That this pin is the cause behind all of it. Trying to get her to see it for what it really is. She shrugs on the jacket and stands, going to the mirror to stare into it. Only to jolt a bit. She’s staring at herself in the dim light, only in the mirror, her eyes are closed. The pin is gleaming softly on her lapel.

So she _is_ asleep.

She shivers, then straightens, clenching her jaw. If she’s asleep than she can wake up.

‘ _Who are you?’_

“What?” Ace blinks.

“Come on!” the Doctor calls. Right. The Doctor. The bazaar. Boxing Day. What else does he always say. He always mentions the fireworks tent.

And…

She narrows her eyes.

“Space dust.”

A few minutes later she’s out in the control room. The Doctor is flipping switches and watching her, humming those bars under his breath.

“Good morning, Ace.”

“Morning, Professor,” she says, throwing the lever for the doors and not even bothering with the rest of it.

“Where are you going?” he calls. She ignores him, takes off the pin and stares at it. It’s just a dream, she tells herself. Just a dream. So it’s not really real. She nabs a cone of fairy floss from the stall, walking away with it as the vendor shouts after her.

“Ace, _don’t!_ ” the Doctor calls in panic. “Ace!”

One of the stars has spotted her. It glows red. She holds the pin up in front of her, looks away, closes her eyes.

~*~*~*~

The notes repeating over and over and over. The four bars. Her mouth feels like sand and she keeps twitching uncontrollably. She’s cold and can’t open her eyes. Asleep but not.

“Oh dear.” A laugh. “She broke it. A little at least.”

“Stop it!” The Doctor’s voice. Livid and dark. “You’re going to kill her! You can’t power anything if she’s dead.”

Power? What is she powering?

“She’s barely powering it as it is,” says the man. “That’s what you’re for.”

“Then why her? What’s your game? What are you using her for?”

“The same reason you do, Doctor,” the man says, seriously. Softly. “Because it’s fun.” And then a wild laugh.

~*~*~*~

_Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum. Rum pum pum pum._

Ace’s eyes open.

00:00 the clock reads, flashes. 00:00. 00:00

“Up, up, up!” the Doctor says. “Up, up, up!”

Ace gets up and shrugs on her jacket. She stares in the mirror. Her eyes are closed. She can see shapes behind her but can’t make out what they are. There is something cold right beside her.

“Come on, Ace, let’s get going!”

She leaves the room. The bazaar opens up around her. A penguin is dancing around the console, humming the Little Drummer Boy. The stars above are a hazy red. She wanders through the market, stroking the pin. The alien rubbish bin ambles by. The figures in cloaks. She hasn’t seen them in a while. She stops to let a woman dash across the road and blinks as she’s jerked back and the world seems to tilt a little sideways and everything is just a bit darker.

There’s only one part left to this. One part she can think of. She buys the squid on the stick. The stars grow red in warning. She doesn’t have a credit bar. …But if this is a dream… and her dream…

She imagines herself holding the credit bar in her hand to give to the vendor. It appears. So she can do that. But _what_ can she do with it? She wanders through the market. Takes a bit of the squid. Feeds it to the plant. Gives the lemonade vendor the credit bar as she watches it burn, the red and gold flickering of the fire, and then just imagines herself with a jug of lemonade to pour over it.

“Sorry, little mate,” she murmurs.

“I am sure, it will be fine,” says the green eyed man behind her. She turns, watching him. He smiles broadly. “It’s time now.” He gestures back the way she had come. “Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t have an accent now, she notes. He sounds just like the man from the other time.

“Show me.”

He laughs.

“You might not like it.”

No, she won’t. But that doesn’t matter. She follows him, trying to think of what she can do. Perceptive. She’s perceptive. She knows that fire won’t work and exploding it won’t work. But, maybe…

He leads her to the stall, pushes back the curtain. She steps inside and folds her arms, letting him make the moves. He seems pleased with himself and keeps smirking at her as he goes further into the room. She tries to ignore the repeating notes and focuses.

“Care for some tea?” he says.

“Just show me, you tosser.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” he makes a sour face and shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “Language! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

If that woman were here she’d give her that and more. But Ace saves her energy to focus. She’s so tired. But not gone. Not yet.

“Ready?” the cat-eyed man says, taking the curtain in his hand. “If you’re not. Too bad.”

He rips it away.

It is a mirror. She’s staring into a mirror. Except her reflection is in a chair, leaning against a tall flat weathered stone, shaped a little like a tooth. Her head is lolling, eyes closed. Her skin is pale and drawn and she can see her own shallow breathing, feel it in her own chest.

The Doctor is tied up behind her looking a bit battered and irritated. The cat-eyed man is looking at some electronic thingy in his hand before smirking up at the mirror and coming toward it.

“Hallo self.”

“Hallo!” The one not a reflection grins back at Ace. “I love this bit.”

“It is my favorite bit,” says the reflection. The non reflection turns to her and they both say in the same tone.

“Welcome to your death!”

And then: “Jinx!” Before throwing back their heads and laughing. The Doctor seems to see her. Can he see her?

“Leave her alone!” the Doctor snaps. Then: “Don’t worry I’ll get you out of this.”

“Get her out of this?” says the reflection, clearly startled. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Oh, I did, I did,” says the non-reflection. “Doctor I thought better of you.”

“Me too, Doctor,” says the reflection, turning back toward the Doctor. “After all, you were the one that got her into this. You knew that pin would put her in a time loop and yet…”

He -- He was the one that gave it to her. She remembers now. He did this. The room darkens and her mind mists a bit. She gets that it’s a test or whatever and he didn’t mean for it to go this way but she’s getting really tired of these kinds of tests.

“I know she can get out of it, despite whatever you’re trying to do,” the Doctor growls. But there is worry in his face as he watches her. Ace suddenly realizes she can’t see her standing reflection. Or maybe… dream reflection.

“She can’t even with you hissing hints at her,” says the cat-eyed reflection.

Suddenly, she has an idea.But she needs some time. She needs the non-reflection of the cat-eyed man to be distracted and he keeps glancing back at her. She thinks up a small star and keeps it in the palm of her hand. When both of the mans’ back is turned, she opens her hand to show the Doctor before quickly closing her fingers around it again. He gives her a slow blink as if he understands.

Ace smiles a little and takes off the pin, putting it in her pocket along with the star.

“It’s an idiotic plan,” the Doctor says. “Whatever it is. The Master won’t be happy if you put his name to something this blindingly stupid.”

“Oh, but I am the Master,” says the man. “Just a little” he laughs. “Self-possessed at the moment.” The cat-eyed reflection glances over his shoulder. “Shall we show him?”

“After you.”

“No, no, no, no. I insist. You first.”

“You’re too kind,” says the non-reflection. “Together then.”

They both turn away from her. She uses the moment to think stars into being. Bigger stars. Bright red. High alert security stars. The Masters grab the bottom of their chins and start to peel back the masks. They start to laugh. Ace _focuses,_ stares at herself in the chair. There is a high pitched whine. The star in her hand, pressed against the pin, also starts to heat. The reflection Master turns, bearded face crumpled into a scowl.

“What?! No! Stop her!”

The non-reflection turns with a similar scowl. But it’s too late. Her hand blisters as the beams shoot through the air straight toward the mirror, filling the room with red.

~*~*~*~

A shudder. The smell of burning smoke. The Master says something very rude.

“Your _companions_ , Doctor,” he says with a laughing snarl. “Are more destructive than they’re _worth._ ”

“No,” says the Doctor. “Just that one.” He sounds proud. She feels proud.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need her and she’s dying anyway.” He laughs. She finds herself yanked roughly from the chair, hitting the ground hard. She lays where she fell, building up energy once more. She’s got a little left in her. Not much, but, she hopes enough.

“But that doesn’t mean you’ll get out of it, Doctor.” She can feel him leaning over her, and manages to open her eyes. He seems startled by this, then smirks and pulls the pin from her lapel. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he says, patting her cheek. “You’ll stop dreaming now. Forever.”

She opens her eyes a little more and smiles at a space just above his head.

“But I am still dreaming,” she manages to rasp. “See?”

The Master looks up, startled.

Ace kicks him in the groin.

He yelps, drops the pin as he staggers back. She rolls to her feet and grabs the pin as quick as she can, staggering toward the Doctor who stands, ropes falling away from him.

“I thought you were tied up,” she says.

“A little bit. Wanted to see what he would do.”

“Oh…Let’s go…”

“Yes, yes, a moment. Wait here.”

She leans against the doorway, watching him go back into the room and closes her eyes. Whatever he’s doing she hopes it quick because she’s not got much left in her.

“Doctor, stop it,” the Master snaps. “Put it back.”

“Okay, Ace,” the Doctor says, hurrying to her side. “Do you know how adrenaline will give you a kick to your system. One that you didn’t even know you had. Like, say, if you’re running from something.”

“What?” Then she spots the orb under his arm.

“Don’t _steal_ it, Doctor,” the Master seethes. “You won’t like what happens.”

“Steal… Oh, Doctor, _no,_ ” Ace groans. She doesn’t want to run.

“Just one more go.” He grabs her hand. “Come on!” She sighs and follows as he tugs her out the door.

“Doctor!” the Master snarls. “ _Doctor!_ ”

But they are outside now. The stars, the real ones, glow red. People shriek and scatter for cover.

“Come on, Ace, a little faster,” the Doctor says.

“Doctor, I can’t go any--” A beam of red sears the ground near her feet. Ace says something extremely rude and goes a little faster. Then they are running. All she can think of to do is run, pulse roaring in her ears as the beams rain down around them. They pass a rubbish plant.

“Wait, wait!” Ace says, pulling her hand away.

“What? Ace, don’t!”

The words chill her but she drops the pin in the rubbish plant anyway, giving it a hearty shake. The teeth open and the pin jiggles inside. The jaws snaps shut and there’s a snap of sparks.

A second later a red beam singes her pony tail.

“Come on!” the Doctor says. Ace grins and bolts.

They fall inside the Tardis together and the Doctor levers the door shut.

“Grab the stabilizers, Ace. Quick quick!”

She grabs the stabilizers, hauls them back as hard as she can. The Tardis thrums to life, the groaning wheezing sound filling her hearing, the most beautiful sound in the world. The floor shakes under her as a beam hits and she yelps, nearly losing her grip, but holding on.

And then-- finally, the quiet and sense of movement that means they’ve made it off world or into the time stream or wherever. Ace slumps, laughing. What a rush. She rests her head on the console, her legs shaking a little underneath her.

“You should get some rest,” the Doctor says, putting a hand on her back. She crosses her arms over the console to pillow her forehead on them.

“I’m almost afraid to.”

“Yes, I don’t blame you. But, you know, I’m sorry. I just saw the pin at the market. I knew what it would do but I didn’t think it would be so aggressive.”

“Hmmh.” She was tired of being tested. So tired of it. It was part of being with the Professor, she guessed. He always wanted her to learn something. But maybe she was getting tired of learning like this. Even though she was glad she did it. Glad she understood the hints. Only…

“Fireworks,” she murmurs, watching him get back to work.

“Hmm?” the Doctor says.

“You kept mentioning fireworks… in the dream I mean.”

“Yes, I did…”

“I don’t get it. Would they have helped? I tried blowing the pin up loads of times.”

He gives her a warm smile, the kind that she rarely sees from him. There’s something behind his eyes. Something wonderful.

“That wasn’t a hint, Ace,” he says. “That was a promise.”

“ _Ace_ ,” she says, feeling a warm drowsy happiness at that even though, in the next instant, the look is gone as he moves away.

“Anyway, for the moment,” the Doctor says. “It looks like linchpin for the oscillator got shaken loose. Those can be hard to find and when you do…expensive. But you know, this time of year that’s not--”

“Doctor,” she says, pushing herself upward and glaring at him. “I _really_ hate Boxing Day.”

“-- really essential,” says the Doctor. “We’ll get by without it for a few months at least. I can maybe even grow one… yes…” he taps his lip with a finger. “Though the landings are going to be rough for a while… Still, maybe…”

Ace leaves him to himself, tromps to her room, and falls face first into bed.

~*~*~*~

Ace opens her eyes. It’s quiet. She sits up. Her reflection stares back at her, gaunt and wild haired, eyes open. She picks up the alarm clock. Ten forty-five.

Hm.

Smiling to herself, Ace turns the alarm clock off, then flops back onto the bed, snuggling the covers up to her chin, and goes back to sleep.

 

 

 

 


	6. In the Bleak Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight miscalculation that sends the Doctor and Leela to a time that celebrates Yuletide rather than Christmas isn't the greatest problem. But when separated by a blizzard, the Doctor ends up the captive of Odin, a leader who is not what he seems, and Leela a strange cave. Now they must find each other before the situation goes from bad to worse.

[In the Bleak Midwinter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0aL9rKJPr4)

 

This was not altogether what he had in mind when he’d set out to show Leela some of the ancient traditions of her people. More for a lark than any lingering sentiment. She certainly hadn’t cared much but she had all the curiosity of a badger and twice the anger at times. But what it meant at the end of the day was she didn’t much care until something caught her interest, or she could eat it. Which was why they were here. Or, rather, why he was here. Since she was not here and could also be considered elsewhere. She always seemed to be elsewhere when he needed her here.

He had gotten the planet right, at least. Well, Earth was hard to miss on the best of days. Sometimes he couldn’t seem to get away from it. The place, well, close enough. About 1129 km North and West from the intended target, but close enough on a good day. Which this most certainly wasn’t.

The time, well, it was perhaps not precisely what he had in mind. There was no figgy pudding or festive air or irritating singing which made one long for a prybar or at least a sturdy pair of earmuffs. Though the rafters of the hall were wrapped with green and pine needles littered the the furs on floor from the two great trees that flanked the wood and horn throne that sat at one end of the great hall. In the center of the room, between two long scarred wooden tables, a fire was being coaxed to life around a large log. A Yule log he was sure. If that tradition existed yet, which he wasn’t so sure.

What he was sure of, however, was that he was losing circulation in his hands with his wrists bound the way they were and the goose egg throbbing just above his left eye was making it terribly difficult to focus or want to keep standing. Oh and also perhaps Leela was out there somewhere, but he was sure she’d be along in a minute. If not that, at least had found some shelter from the storm.

“Tell me,” he said to the guard standing nearest to him. “Do you think it will be much longer? Only I’m feeling a bit of a draft.”

The guard said nothing without even a twitch in expression. Though it had to be easy to be stoic with all that hair. Except for the slice of a broad nose and patch for the eyes, there was barely any face to see.

“Care for a jelly baby?” he tried again, sounding hopeful. “If you do, I’m afraid I might have some trouble getting it with my hands bound.”

The guard didn’t give him so much as a grunt.

“Oh, well you needn’t be so chatty,” the Doctor muttered. “Perhaps I’ll just take a quick look around.” He started forward, only to be stopped by the man’s steel trap of a hand, clamping around his arm. “Or perhaps not. Honestly, I was just going to warm my hands by the fire. Awfully cold, you see. And, well, a fire like that, it would be a shame to waste it.”

The man straightened then, but the Doctor held no hope of actually having convinced him, especially since he heard the tread of feet on the other side of the hall. A horn sounded as well, echoing long and low.

“Someone important?”

“On your knees!” the guard growled.

“No I’m fine than— “ A sharp blow to the back of his legs sent him painfully onto the packed dirt of the hall. A dirty hand, smelling of bear grease and blood, forced his head down, so all he could see were the tops of boots and the bottom of trousers and the swirl of cloaks. Really, how barbarous. If knew once upon a time he wouldn’t’ve been in this position. Once upon a time he would have been able to stun the man with a neat jab or even throw him elegantly across the room. That was one thing this body had forgotten and he almost regretted it except who really wanted to fight so much when one could avoid it?

In any case, the boots lined up before the throne and then the occupant of the throne strode in. The Doctor supposed it was because his boots were black and sturdy, lined with fur and the cloak looked thick and heavy. A bird squawked and there was the brief flutter of wings.

“This is the one you found?” said the man, presumably, on the throne his voice harsh and deep. “The magician who defiled the sacred grove?”

“I’m the Doctor, actually. Though, I might remember a card trick or two if you—”

His head was pushed nearly to the floor for that one, pain lancing down his spine.

“Really-!”

“It is, my lord,” said one of the men who had caught him unawares in the snow, presumably. The problem with being caught unawares was that by the time he was aware it was often too late to see who had caught him.

“What do you have to say for yourself, magician?”

“You really should invest in some plush carpeting. Or at least a nice wood floor.”

“He speaks nonsense,” the bear guard, presumably, said. “He has been chattering non-stop since he came around.”

And it hadn’t helped a whit. Well, it had kept him warm, at least. And, importantly, aware.

“Let me see him,” the man on the throne said.

The Doctor felt the blunt fingers tighten in his hair and though he tried to move as much as he could with the movement, he was hampered by his position. Still he tried to make no sound even as his head was pulled back, hair stinging at the roots.

“I can raise my own head, you know,” he said, glaring with one eye open at the man on the throne and hoping the man saw what he needed to see. Or rather what the Doctor needed him to see. Which is, to say, nothing. “I’m sorry I landed in your grove. I certainly didn’t choose to defile anything.”

“You do talk too much,” the throne man said. “You have too much love for your tongue.”

“Wonderful things, tongues,” the Doctor countered, getting a good look at the man. “Did you know the average tongue has 10,000 tastebuds? Some even have a few more…” As he spoke, he observed the throne man. He was oldish, blondish, thickish from years of fighting. His face was seemed with scars and one eye was completely gone, covered by a hide patch. Two ravens sat on either side of the throne. And he was watching him intently. As if searching for something. The Doctor couldn’t be sure what it was, but decided to take a stab based purely on intuition.

“… But you, wise Odin, seem more concerned with eyes than tongues. Can I ask you what you’re looking for?”

The man grinned, a gleam of pale teeth. The others in the hall stiffened in alarm, which was generally not good for his own well-being, he knew. Generally. But they relaxed as he thought they might when Odin held no such fear.

“You know of me.”

“Who doesn’t? It’s a name that commands respect and fear from all who hear it.” Though it was not the Odin he’d met, oh, a face ago. Or at least he doesn’t think so. It very well might be. Memory could get so muddled and humans changed so quickly it was hard to keep track at times.

“Commands respect, you say? Not from magicians, it seems,” Odin said with a smirk.

“It’s rather hard to have respect when treated like a criminal,” said the Doctor. “If you have a question of me or want to see me you simply have to ask.”

“Let him rise,” Odin said with a flick of his hand.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said as the meaty greasy hand was taken away. He rose, awkwardly for his bound wrists, taking in better stock of the situation. Flanking the supposed god were a handful of old grizzled men, veterans by the look of them, and a sour faced boy, all bristling with weapons. It didn’t tell him much except they expected to find trouble-- if not with him than elsewhere.

“My hands, if you please?” he said, wiggling his fingers.

“A man has his sword, a magician his hands,” Odin said with that same grin as if he’d won a point. The magician his hands, the Doctor his tongue, the Doctor thought, securing his own point but not quite foolish enough to say so. Instead he struggled a bit in the rough twine.

“What do you know of the _Kallvarg_ Lake.”

“Mm? What?” He struggled a bit more for emphasis.

“I’m not accustomed to repeating myself,” said Odin.

“No? It’s a wonderful habit. I do it quite frequently. In any case, bound like this is rather uncomfortable. Makes it a bit difficult for me to focus on answering your questions honestly.”

“Father, he’s mocking you!” said the sour faced boy, gripping a dagger at his side. “Let me show him the color of his guts.”

“Quite familiar with the color thank you,” the Doctor said, taking half a step back only to find the guard’s hand clamping painfully around his shoulder. Odin nodded and the Doctor found himself being forced painfully to his knees again. This was getting ridiculous. He was used to being manhandled but at least there was usually variety. Odin stepped down from his throne, drawing a silver sword with a faint rasp of metal. There were runes along the center of the blade that the Doctor couldn’t read even as it was shoved practically under his nose and he could feel the razor blade of it against his throat. Well, variety at least.

“I can tell you are a very powerful magician,” Odin said calmly. “For you are used to speaking as you choose and obfuscating what you may. Understand then, that this is my realm and answer my questions accordingly or I can make it vastly more uncomfortable for you.”

“I take your point.” He swallowed, trying not to notice how the blade graced his skin. “Oh, very well. I’ve just arrived and know nothing of the lake, other than the rather on the nose name.”

“And you’re on my land, why? If not drawn to the magic of the lake, then what?”

“Magic. Piffle,” the Doctor said, then quickly when the blade twitched. “Merely traveling with my companion. A young woman named Leela. We became separated in the blizzard where I ran afoul of your bear greased henchmen.”

“And how do I know you speak the truth?”

How tiresome. At times like these he wondered why he frequented Earth so often.

“Because Odin sees into the hearts of men,” the Doctor said, hoping the line would work. “And if I were lying, you would know.” He stared into the man’s remaining eye -- a pale gray in color, pupil mere pinprick. Was it due to the lighting or something else? Odin smirked once more in a way the Doctor didn’t like and sheathed his sword. Then unsheathed a dagger from his belt and swiftly cut free a lock of the Doctor’s hair.

“No thanks, just had a trim,” the Doctor said. “Look I really mean you no harm. Honestly I know nothing of any lake and I don’t even believe in magic. I’m not a magician, you see, but a doctor, the Doctor. I go around and--” meddle in things was probably not the best answer here. “Explore.”

“Don’t believe in magic? Strange,” said Odin, turning away with the lock of hair between his fingers. The Doctor tried to crane his head to see what he was doing with it, that failing, he looked into the faces of the others still standing on the small dais by the throne. The faces of the grizzled old men tightened and the sour faced boy smiled. There was some sort of shift in the air if he wasn’t mistaken. A kind of twizziling sensation and the very very faint scent of ozone.

“I think you do.” Odin said, turning, pinching a single strand of the Doctor’s hair between his fingers, watching him intently. The Doctor had the feeling he was supposed to react. He’d heard of this sort of thing, of course. A sort of connectedness between parts of a person’s self and a person, used in various voodoo rituals as well. He couldn’t recall the name.

“I really don’t,” the Doctor said to provide a reaction. “Do you think, if I must be kneeling here, I can get a pillow? Or perhaps a nice fluffy bear sk-- Ah!” The Doctor cringed as a firey bolt went into his scalp as the hair was dropped onto the fire. It didn’t hurt much, more of a shock. But that shouldn’t’ve worked. How did that work?

“What did you do? How did you do that?” he said, sounding perhaps a touch more anxious about it than he meant to.

“Very well, I will indulge you,” Odin said, pacing back to the throne and sitting, watching him down the bridge of his broken nose. “The _Kallvarg_ is a cursed lake, controlled by the witch of _Isslöja_. For many years it has lain silent, until a fortnight ago.”

“Ah,” said the Doctor, having no idea what that even meant but pretending to understand was often a good way to move the conversation along and get to the important bits.

“Folk have been disappearing from my hall,” Odin said, watching him still. “And ending up inside that lake, frozen for all time. Further the witch of _Isslöja_ has promised that by Midwinter night, one more will vanish into its depths and remain there until the stars turn to dust.” The boy grew tense now, but straightened his back and thrust his chin out proudly.

“Ahh…” the Doctor said, understanding more now. “I’m not much good with witches… Well I haven’t met many for a start so not much experience. Anyway you seem to have magic of a sort yourself.”

“My talents are meager, and yours, well… I think there’s much more to you than meets the eye.”

“Me? Not really. I’m quite a simple fellow. I like tea in the mornings and a nice comfy chair and I’m rather fond of sweets. And unless this witch is interested in any of those…” He shrugged.

“There’s something to be said for ingenuity.” He leaned back, resting his hands on the arms of the throne. “Either way you will either succeed, or you will die in ice…” He lifted the lock of hair held between his fingers. “Or fire.”

“Yes… well… ah… yes it certainly needs thinking about. Perhaps I may have something in my …ah… magic box after all but I must go fetch it. Surely you can’t expect me to go far with that held over my --er--head.” Because he was fairly certain that while whatever Odin had done with his hair might work over a distance, it may not work if he was several billion miles and thousands of years in the opposite direction.

“We will escort you to your box once the blizzard clears,” Odin said. “Until then…” He grinned, closing his fingers over the hair. “You’re welcome to share our hospitality.”

“Yes,” the Doctor said, trying not to sound as sarcastic as he felt. “I shall.”

~*~*~*~

Leela was dreaming. This she knew because it felt like a dream. She was tracking through a hot dry cypress bog full of frogs and dripping water and living trees that creaked and groaned in a language their own. What she was tracking wasn’t clear, though it certainly wasn’t the Doctor. He strode ahead, babbling as usual and scaring any sort of prey for miles around. She was annoyed at him. It didn’t seem fair to her that she should be annoyed by him both in the waking and sleeping world, but at least she could keep track of where he was.

Naturally, the moment she thought this, he yelped and disappeared feet first into a bog, his hat sitting on the mud the only indication of where he had been. Leela rolled her eyes, feeling more irritated than concerned and went to pull his hat from the ground, knowing somehow he would be attached to it. She brushed her fingers on the brim and suddenly a finger, cold as bone, pressed against her cheek.

Leela woke in an instant, grabbing her knife and rolling out of the tangle of furs, rolling to a crouch on the smooth floor. The shadowy figure of a boy yelped and flailed backwards, tripping on something and rolling end over end into the gloom until he finally found his footing and remained there--crouched-- watching her with eyes that glowed like ice blue embers.

“Who are you?” Leela said. “Where am I?”

The boy made a low keening sound, like a whine, and shuddered. Leela slowly lowered the knife, watching his shadowy figure for any sign that he might spring-- but he remained where he was, hunched over. She sheathed the knife, though kept her hand on the hilt, and looked around, blinking in the near darkness. It was a cave of some kind, tinted dimly blue. There were dripping sounds and creaking noises that she had thought, in her dream, were trees. But now she knew, or thought she knew the sound to be settling ice.

It was a warm cave for all that, she thought. Even despite the furs for blankets and restricting cloth coat she wore so that she wouldn’t “lose bits unexpectedly” as the Doctor had said. They were here for some sort of festival, Leela remembered, that the Doctor wanted to show her. Leela had no objection to festivals and could enjoy them if there were fights to watch or wrestling to do. He had given her that frown and explained that, no, this was much more cheerful. There was food and song and good will toward men and things of that nature. Leela had no objection to much of those, though the good will had to be earned, she thought and said as much but he’d just waved her off.

They had gone out on a beautiful blue day in a thickly wooded grove, leaving a pouty K-9 behind to fix things for they had crash landed. They always crash landed it seemed. Or ended up where they shouldn’t or when they shouldn’t or somewhere unexpected. She had gotten used to it by now and actually was enjoying the variety if only because it was a new place to see what trouble the Doctor would get them into.

This trouble was more concerning than most. The blue day and turned into a gray day. Then the snow had started to fall thick and fast and Leela had asked the Doctor if it wouldn’t be wiser if they turned around and the Doctor had said unfortunately they had turned around for he had no idea where they were at present. And soon the snow had picked up so fast and thick that she’d had a hard time seeing him at all and then couldn’t see him and she had walked calling for him until exhaustion had made her rest on a snowbank.

“Did you save me?” Leela said, because it seemed he had. “Thank you.”

The boy watched her with his glowing eyes and put a hand on the ground as if he would come nearer. There was a clatter somewhere in the cave and the boy straightened to attention. There was a faint ‘poff’ sound and a warm yellow light illuminated an entrance she hadn’t noticed. The boy yawped happily and charged into the entrance, on all fours, Leela noticed, fur cloak trailing behind him.

“Well well,” said an old cracked voice kindly. “It’s good to see you too. Is our friend awake?”

Leela wondered if she should be or not. Would there be any merit in pretending to sleep? No, she decided instantly. She wasn’t good at that kind of trickery to begin with and that she should even think it meant she had spent entirely too long around the Doctor. She followed the light instead and came down a short rocky hallway into a round cave room, padded with furs. The light came from a lantern, swinging from the ceiling. The boy waited on his haunches at the edge of the room while an elder woman, bent and white-haired, took off her huge pack with a grunt, then set about shaking the snow from her cloak.

“I am here, elder,” Leela said, respectfully, coming into the light. The woman smiled at her, her eyes an ice blue over the proud slope of her nose.

“So I see,” the woman said. “Welcome to Sjöhem.”

“Thank you,” Leela said. And then because not all prisons had bars or unkind wardens. “Am I trapped here?”

“Do you want to be?” the woman asked kindly, eyes twinkling.

“No.”

“Then you are not. At least not by me. The winds may have something else to say.”

And here, Leela heard them, howling and whistling from above perhaps through unseen unfelt crevices in the rock.

“I am Leela,” she said. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“I am Bestla. Though it is Fläck you should be thanking,” she said, nodding to the boy who whined again. “He is the one who found you half frozen in the snow and dragged you back. Foolish girl, you could have died.”

“I am…unused to this kind of weather,” Leela said, ducking her head, feeling the sting.

“That much is obvious,” said Bestla, but kindly. She threw a bone to the boy who grabbed it with nimble fingers and began to gnaw at it, cracking it under his teeth. “If you bring the stew pot just there, I can start a meal,” Bestla said with a nod to a lidded black pot that sat in the corner.

Leela grabbed it easily enough. The wind howled again and though the caves were as oddly warm as ever, she couldn’t help but feel a prickle of chill over her skin. She wasn’t the only one used to this kind of weather, perhaps.

“Thank you, but I can’t stop to eat. I must look for my friend.” She paused, and then. “Maybe you have seen him? He is tall, has curly hair and big teeth and is very irritating?”

“I have not,” Bestla said, sounding amused. “And I won’t stand in your way to leave, but know you will die if you go wandering in the storm. If your friend has any sense, he will have walked until he found the village or found some other shelter and not slept in the snow.”

“Mm,” said Leela, worried now. The Doctor seemed hardier than most, but if it came down to a matter of sense, she wasn’t sure he’d make it. Still, he might, and she would definitely die or at least get lost if she went back out in that blizzard. Still…

“I won’t leave,” Leela said, setting the pot down where the woman had indicated. “But I would like to have a look outside and see what I can see.”

“It won’t be much,” said Bestla, pulling vegetables and another shank of meat from her pack. “But the exit is just through there.” She waved vaguely behind her. Leela nodded, aware of Fläck’s eyes on her as she crossed the room and pushed back the heavy fur that covered the entrance. There were steps here, carved of stone, leading up. Chill, too… which must have something to do with the two walls of blue ice rising on either side, past the cave ceiling. Leela wrapped her arms around herself for warmth and started up the steps into the unknown blackness beyond when a shape… and then shapes… in the ice caught her attention.

On both sides, there were bodies locked in the ice. Some looked perfect, as if they’d just lied down to rest. Others were clearly decaying and there were a few skeletons, arms crossed over their chests.

“What is this place?” Leela said, not sure if she wanted to go forward or back. Not a good place, that much was obvious.

“Kallvarg,” Bestla said. “The cursed lake. It freezes and consumes and lately feeds on the bodies of Odin’s fools.”

She shook her head, rubbing her arms for a different reason.

“How is it that you can live here?” Leela asked. She couldn’t. There was something very wrong about this place.

“Sometimes there are choices, sometimes there aren’t,” Bestla answered simply. “There is a door at the end of the stairs. Mind you close it before too much cold gets in.”

Leela nodded and then said: “Alright.” Realizing the woman couldn’t hear her. She went up the steep steps, trying not to notice the bodies on either side and then saw the wooden door with the wooden handle. Carefully she pushed it open and then winced as it was nearly ripped from her hand. Biting wind swirled outside and in, dragging her hair back from her face. Snow hissed in and she couldn’t see much but gray beyond.

The Doctor had better not still be out in that. She could only hope he wasn’t. With a grunt, Leela pulled the door closed. There was another soft hiss that he wondered at and then she shook her head and turned to go back down the stairs back into the warm room. Fläck sat up and grinned at her and she patted his dark hair absently.

“When will it die down?” Leela asked, settling herself on a fur.

“Who knows,” Bestla said, lifting the lid of the pot. There was the sound of bubbling and a delicious smell wafted out as the old woman stirred the contents and replaced the lid. Suddenly Leela realized something odd.

“There is no fire,” she said. Nor even a kind of hot coil or metal grate. “How is it cooking?”

Bestla smiled.

“Magic.”

~*~*~*~

In his younger days, when he was an aspiring recordist, he’d often thought he’d enjoy a proper Nordic feast. A place where beer was quaffed and bones thrown willy nilly over shoulders to growling dogs in the shadows— where brawny men and women laughed boisterously and joked about battles won and lost. These days, the Doctor preferred, rather than a table laden with meat and stews and bread and yet more meat, with a side of meat to go with the meat not already consumed; a table, perhaps, with puddings and custards, decadent cakes, jellies and even delicate sugared flowers that melted like snow on the tongue in a sugary burst. Unfortunately, he had more of the former right now and not even a particularly good Nordic feast at that.

The Doctor tried to ignore the sorrowful stare of the roasted boar at arms length from him, sitting on a platter of wilted greenery with an apple shoved in its mouth that it couldn’t even taste, the poor thing. Unfortunately the alternative was to look at the girl. Drifa. A dark haired young woman, perhaps a few years Leela’s junior who was, with trembling fingers, trying to entice him to eat the roasted leg of some poor beast that was currently dripping juices on the table.

“No, thank you,” he said for what was perhaps the million time. “I’m allergic.”

This answer, as always, seemed to terrify her for a reason, he was sure, had nothing to do with some allergy phobia.

“You must eat, wise sir,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “You must have strength to perform your magics.”

“I do magic better on an empty stomach,” he said. Wanting to add that he’d do it even better with his hands free, as they were still pinioned behind him and his wrists were achingly raw by now. He could, of course, try to persuade her to unbind him— but even if he could, the equally terrified looks she was shooting to the chief’s table whenever he refused food told him it wouldn’t end well for her. Perhaps it wasn’t going well for her now.

“Something to drink then,” he said. “If you can manage it.”

The girl nodded and hurried off to fetch something. This gave him a chance to sit and observe, though Odin’s raucous laugh lead his gaze there. He couldn’t help but despise the man a little. There was being suspicious of a stranger traipsing near your village, especially when there was this magic curse nonsense going on— but it was something else again to use that stranger and to keep him bound as a prisoner.

Beyond that, there were a couple other curious things. Odin and the boy and the flanking grizzled veterans sat at the chief’s table, being served by various women, but the veterans seemed to have little love for their leader. Perhaps they were just grim and stoic men but he could have sworn more than one glare was leveled Odin’s way under beetle black brows. Also curious was that while Odin was blond and his son even more so, everyone else had black or brownish hair and swarthy skin in comparison.

If there was anything else, he couldn’t be sure. This was a warrior culture to the hilt, though swords and other weapons were absent, perhaps for the feasting. He could tell by the way they moved, the glint of their eyes, the muscle, the scar tissue stretching across faces and hands, the shields lining the walls. If there was anything else out of place among them, even the irritated veterans, the Doctor could not puzzle it out. Not like Leela would.

If she were here, he thought, his hands would (likely) be unbound and he would get to enjoy the parts of the feast he liked while watching her take in everything with keen blue eyes— asking blunt questions, or perhaps not. Perhaps she’d find a way to move in this society, getting answers without rousing suspicion. That she was not here was worrisome. He wanted to go search for her but, things as they were, it wasn’t likely he would even be able to get past the door. So from here he could only have faith in her hard headed nature and ability to survive.

“I return, wise sir,” Drifa said, and so she had, coming to sit beside him at the trestle table. She was holding a drinking horn in her hands. In any other circumstance, he’d’ve been delighted to try it out. As things were, however, he was a little put out that that particular pleasure was being taken from him. He tried to put worried thoughts of Leela at the back of his mind for now. Even if there were things she could pick up that he couldn’t; there were questions he could ask that she wouldn’t think to try.

“Before that,” he said as she hesitantly lifted the horn. She set it back down again, disappointed. “What can you tell me about Odin?”

“He is our great Chief and protector,” Drifa replied, words articulated and eyes glazed as if she was doing this from some rote memory. “He brought us out of the darkness and into the light and one day, he shall ascend and be our god.”

“Sounds like an interesting fellow.” And making quite a leap. Not an entirely unexpected one. It wasn’t uncommon for this day and age and a little Godhood could be comforting to people in a wild world so very out to kill them. Still that the ‘ascend’ bit snagged in his mind and one other thing. How? What, precisely, was his plan?

“He is a very wise ruler,” she said, raising the drinking horn yet again.

“Where did he come from? He and his son,” the Doctor said. Unless there were recessive genes that he didn’t know about, the two seemed quite foreign to these people, and, he somewhat suspected, came from much further afield than that. Drifa’s brow did not even wrinkle at the question, which told him it wasn’t an odd one.

“The Great One came to us from the wilderness when my mother’s mother was a child. We were a people who wandered into this land and for many generations were harried and beaten by our neighbors until he came to save us.”

The Doctor was no great judge of age. He tended to miss the fine details and, to his eyes, there was no great difference between thirty-seven and fifty-seven. Though it was evident that The Great One was of no Great Age, at least not externally. There were strands of silver in his hair and beard but, unless Drifa’s family line had happened very quickly, he was a great deal younger than he should have been.

He leaned back as the drinking horn was presented yet again, more aggressively this time, and said:

“And has he protected you?”

“Oh yes,” Drifa said with unscripted enthusiasm. “We defeated anyone who opposed us and our raiding parties lead by the Great One were respected and feared. We received much tribute from everyone around or who would pass through our lands.”

“And now?” he said, particularly sensitive to tenses. She looked at the chief’s table, looked away, growing pale.

“The world is colder and emptier than once it was.” Her words both chilled and fascinated him.

“But what…”

“Please drink, wise sir,” she said, suddenly light voiced and frantic. “P-please…”

Odin was watching them, the Doctor realized. Wintery gray eye pinned on where they sat. At first he thought only to pretend to drink, but then decided he must. And so he did, feeling rather like a young animal being fed. The ale also left a strange bitterness on his tongue and made his eyes water.

“Are you refreshed, wise sir?” she said after finally lowering the horn.

“More like drowned. You are terrible at your job.” He blew out a breath between his lips. He peered at her. “And what is your job other than hand feeding prisoners.”

“You are not a prisoner, wise sir!”

He leaned in close and whispered. “Piffle.” Then away again, swaying slightly, speaking louder. “If I am not a prisoner, than untie me!”

There was a lull in the conversation at that and gazes flicked his way— but then the conversation resumed as if he had never spoken. He wanted to speak again, louder this time, call Odin out for the coward he was to keep a magician so tied. Even if he was, of course, a Doctor. But Drifa shrunk even further against the table as if afraid of retribution so he let it go.

For now.

“See? Prisoner feeding.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly. Everything felt slower somehow, and a bit faded round the edges. That was possibly not a good sign. Or possibly a very good sign. No it was a bad one, he realized as he took quite a bit longer to blink than he had originally intended and the room swum a bit.

“It will keep you warm,” she said, quietly, so quietly he wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t whispering in his mind. “Until the _Kallvarg_ comes.”

Ah! Ah yes… the central…thingy… point! He tried to hold onto it even as he rested his hand on his cheek and his elbow on the table. Or… well, that was the intention but forgetting too late of his bound hands his cheek hit the table with the thud and he found himself almost being entirely too intimate with the pork platter. The pig looked on with baffled alarm. Drifa did not. It meant something but he couldn’t wrap his mind around what.

“This _Kallvarg_ ,” he murmured, watching her with one eye. “He hashn’t protected you from that very well.” And then adding the last bit louder. “Has he?”

Drifa smiled sadly.

“He is not a god yet,” she said. “And all power comes with a sacrifice.”

“Shacrifiche?” he murmured. His eyes felt like lead weights and somewhere in the process of trying to keep them more open than closed, he understood. “Ahhh. Me.”

Who better to give In sacrifice than an alarming, and perhaps powerful, stranger rather than the flesh and blood of the people? But there was something else. Something bigger. Something he couldn’t put a finger on. Everything was fading and swirling away to warm, welcome dark.

“I’m sorry,” Drifa whispered from a long dark distance. “I’m sorry…”

Well you should be, he thought in useless anger. Your ale is terrible.

 

~*~*~*~

 

This place was strange, Leela thought, as she paced between the two connected cave rooms. She had crossed the short rocky corridor between them many times, and had since come to notice that though the corridor looked rocky, it was actually smooth, as if the rock was something the Doctor liked to call an optical illusion. She trailed her fingers along the wall again, just to reassure herself and indeed felt a faint vibration, though what that meant she couldn’t be sure. There was also the fact that Bestla had disappeared somehow -- not outside but into the sleeping chamber and now was nowhere to be found.

She sighed as she came into the main room once more, stopping so suddenly that Fläck ran into her legs. She smiled a little and looked down at him. He regarded her with glowing blue eyes and tilted his head to the side, sitting on his haunches.

“Bored, are you?” she said. He tilted his head to the other side as if he didn’t understand. He was thoroughly mad, she thought. Something was missing. Some spark or link in a chain. Mad but harmless and she found herself liking him, though perhaps it was because he seemed to like her.

“I wonder if the snow’s stopped,” she murmured, going to the far wall and tilting her own head, trying to hear if there was wind beyond the door past the stairs. It was difficult to tell. She hoped, if it hadn’t, it would stop soon. She needed to find the Doctor, but also she was starting to feel cramped in this space. Fläck seemed to agree with her because he sat beside her and whined at the skin covering the door, as if wanting to get out.

“Soon,” she told him, patting his hair. “Though I think you could survive out there.”

“He could,” said Bestla and Leela turned to acknowledge the elder as she came back into the main room. She was wearing the cloak again, though no pack this time. “Fläck is a very hardy creature.”

“Creature?” Leela echoed, wondering if it was an endearment or… “Is he not, human?”

“He is no foundling if that’s what you’re inferring,” said Bestla. “But I did find him, as a child, left for dead in the lake. And though I saved his body his mind is as you see.”

Leela nodded. It was a tragedy and a horrible thing to have happened… but for what had happened, he seemed content and was well looked after and loved, she noted as he leaned up against the old woman’s side and she scratched just under his ear. So things seemed to have worked out for the best.

“The snow has stopped, and if you wish Fläck can guide you back to your home.”

Leela opened her mouth to say she’d rather look for the Doctor, but Bestla spoke first.

“It will soon be too dark to look for your friend. It’s best that you start in the morning.”

Leela closed her mouth again and nodded. She didn’t wish to start in the morning, but perhaps going back to the Tardis first was best. K-9 might be better able to track the Doctor than she would right now.

“You are wise,” she said. Bestla smiled.

“So I’ve been told. Come along,” she said to Fläck. Leela followed her up the narrow stairway, into the glowing blue corridor, unable to resist glancing at the bodies again at any moment expecting them to move. They remained as they ever were, frozen in death. It was like a graveyard. She felt as if she should pay her respects if she knew how or had the time.

Instead she followed Bestla outside, the door hissing shut behind them. The storm had cleared to reveal a wide dark night flecked with cold distant stars, the snow like paper rolled out, thigh deep in places, shining a soft blue under the glow of a hunter’s moon, large and low on the horizon, ready to slip below it. It would be true dark soon, she thought, and cold.

“Here is where we part,” Bestla said. “I have an errand to keep. But let Fläck run ahead and he will break a way for you.”

“Thank you,” Leela said, nodding. “And thank you for your hospitality.”

Bestla gave an acknowledging smile and pulled the cloak’s hood over her head, starting away. Leela was somewhat curious to see where she went but Fläck started ahead, charging through the snow as if it were nothing. Leela followed him, watching him pounce and run in the snow. With the black fur cloak and the black hair he really did seem like some kind of animal from this angle.

They crossed over a strange hump of a snow covered bridge that seemed to almost cut the iced over lake in two and beyond that, Leela could see the skeletal points of trees just over the rise in the distance.

As they reached the top of the hill, she saw a vast forest spread out below. Just before it and to the left sat a village and hall, huddled against the base of the hill. As they started down the hill saw that it was abandoned and probably had been for some time. The rooves were gone or caved in from snow. Doors were left standing open or were missing completely. She wondered if the Doctor had taken shelter there. Or maybe in the other village, closer to the forest but also abandoned. This even longer than the last, trees growing through some of the houses there. She was close enough to see that the front of the hall was covered with deep ruts as if by the claws of some beast.

“There is something wrong with this place,” she murmured to herself. Fläck grunted but didn’t turn to look back. She rubbed her arms. Everything was abandoned and quiet. Too quiet. The only sounds were the crunching of the snow and her own breath sounding hollow in her ears. Not an animal moved underfoot. Not an owl called from a tree. There wasn’t even the smell of a hearth. When they came into the wood, the shadows only grew deeper, the dark closer. Soon the only light a dim blue glow that surrounded the boy in front of her. It was a wonder, Leela thought, that Fläck had even found her at all. If the Doctor was lost in this forest…

But surely K-9 could think of some way to help tonight… and if not then, she could track the Doctor in the daylight somehow. Forests were her home, more than stations or light houses or whatever else new and exciting the Doctor wanted to show her. Yet, even this place seemed alien to her. And cold. As if even the trees were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

She is releived when she finally sees the Tardis, buried half way up to it’s keyhole in snow. The wreath that the Doctor had put on the door had remained in place despite the weather. Fläck dug out the way for her than sat on his haunches by the door grinning at her. She gave him a smile in return.

“Good boy,” she said, patting his head. Then she pushed open the door, sighing in relief of the warmth and bright lights of the Tardis where she could see everything clearly. How odd this place with its walls and rooms and strangeness had come to feel like home to her, even more than forests she was raised in.

“Welcome back, Mistress,” said K-9, unhooking himself from the console and whirring toward her. “I have discovered the cause of our crash. There is an ionized orbital destabilizer--”

“The Doctor is not here,” Leela said to prevent the explanation she wouldn’t understand. “We became separated and I lost him.”

There was a whirr which, to Leela, felt like a sigh. She agreed with him. This seemed to be a habit.

“Can you--” she stared, but his head raised and dish like ears swiveled.

“Intruder.” It sounded more like a question. Leela half turned and saw Fläck was crouching in the entryway, staring inside with wide eyes. He toppled out with a startled yawp, disappearing from the entrance and in a moment reappearing. Leela watched in faint amusement as he went around three times before, hesitating once more at the doorway.

“It’s alright,” Leela said. “Come in. K-9 this is Fläck. He lead me here.”

“Greetings, Fläck,” K-9 said, thin metal tail wagging back and forth. Fläck whined, came forward on his knuckls cautiously and sniffed at K-9. A little metal rod extended from K-9’s face and Fläck startled, relaxing when K-9 explained mechanically:

“Sniff. Sniff.”

Fläck grinned and then sat up, eyes widening before he pivoted and dashed back outside, throwing a keening whine into the air..Leela spun around, hand on the pommel of her dagger but there is nothing there.

“K-9… Is something else here…? Something we cannot see?”

“Negative,” K-9 said.

“Oh…” she relaxed. “I wonder why he left.” She shrugged, shook her head. “Anyway, we must find the Doctor. Can you track him?”

“Calculating,” K-9 said, twisting his dish ears this way and that. After a while, he said: “There is a seven percent probability that he sent a signal with the sonic screwdriver.”

“Only that…” She shook her head. It didn’t sound very likely at all. At least he never had before. “Other than that, there’s no way to find him?”

“Affirmative.”

“I see…” she bit her lip, then nodded. “Try and track him anyway.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

There was a chance that he would do the unexpected. If not she would have to track him which meant she would need to gather things to prepare. An electric torch, some food, a sledge to drag his unconscious or semi-conscious body back to the ship. How could he be so brilliant yet somehow so useless on his own?

 

~*~*~*~

The Father stood outside the great hall with the Son. He was proud that the Son should see all this. This land with snow and hills and tall strong trees. These stars. That moon. The foods and the drink and the stillness and the quiet. All this but the Son did not seem to notice. His hand was on the hilt of his dagger as he stared toward the great hall.

“Will he be great, Father?” said the Son. “Will we become even stronger? If not, may I spill his guts?”

The Father frowned. “You speak overmuch of gut spilling. It does not become us.”

“It becomes them,” said the Son, petulantly. “And we will be one of them, won’t we Father?”

That was true, the Father thought, of these barbarous people. Surely their warlike ways had only been a boon to them, and yet he couldn’t condone that sort of violence in his heartstem. And it was also true that the Son had not even been pulled from his pod before they had crashed onto this planet and knew nothing but the hard harsh ways of a hard harsh people.

“He will make us stronger,” the Father said instead. “Of that I am sure. And if not--”

“I insist on a deviled apple!” the magician bellowed from inside. “I shan’t leave without it!” There were brief sounds of struggle and all went still again. The Father glared out at the snow without seeing it. Took a deep breath.

“You may spill whatever you wish.” And was surprised to discover how much he meant it. Though truly the man could only make them stronger. The gene module had nearly overheated when asked to identify species and the answer had come back chillingly wonderful. Gallifreyan. Time Lord. A species so advanced that even his own people had thought time out of mind that they were legends or gods. He didn’t know precisely where the man had come from, but what did it matter? With a Time Lord at his fingertips, he didn’t see why he had to stay content to control the valley. With that kind of power he could control all the lands he could touch and perhaps even more!

“Deviled apple,” called the magician. “Fifteen if you please… More if you have them!”

He was such an incredible specimen, the Father reminded himself, that killing him now would not do his plan any good whatever. The Son snickered.

“Be still.” He placed a hand on the Son’s shoulder as he saw the flash of blue light, and the cloaked figure coming from them in the last rays of moonlight. “Remember that this is our secret plan. One that the _Isslöja_ must not know of. As far as she knows, we are on her side.”

“I will remember,” the Son said, thrusting his chin up, proudly.

“If she asks you,” said the Father in a low voice. “You must say--”

“Deviled apple! Thank you!”

“Wait here,” said the Father, trying to keep the anger from his voice as he strode back and whipped open the door. Björn the iron bear had already pulled the magician back down and he and several other strong men were attempting to rope him to the table on which he was tied.

“Why is he not asleep?” the Father hissed as they startled and bowed their heads in respect.

“We don’t know, my lord,” said Klefi, oldest of his advisers. “We think he is but that he may be dreaming.”

“Apples,” the magician muttered. “Deviled apples. Must have them.”

“Give him one then. Maybe it will silence him,” the Father growled.

“But,” Klefi said, bowed, “How do we devil an apple? Not even the women know.”

The Father stalked into the room, snatched a bruised winter apple from where it lay on a wooden platter, and pinched open the magician’s mouth, levering the apple between his ridiculous teeth.

“There,” he said, with a snarl. “And if he manages to use his tongue again, cut it out.”

“My lord,” said Klefi before the Father could make it back outside. Gathering his patience he turned. “Are you sure this is necessary?” the man continued. “We haven’t been under direct threat for a score of years or more. Everyone fears us. And it is… quiet now in the land.”

“You will learn to love the quiet, Klefi,” said the Father softly, though made no uncertainty that this was an order. Klefi seemed as if he wanted to argue, then bowed his head in obedience. The Father relaxed, then raised his voice for the benefit of the others. “And once we have complete control, there will be no need to fear anyone else. I, Odin, will see us prosper.”

They whispered and bowed. There was no great cheering as there had been years past. But perhaps it was because they’d had to sacrifice their own this year. But that was the first and the last time. Next year, perhaps, the valley would be theirs and there would be cheers once more. He pushed outside once more. Panic filled him as he saw the _Isslöja_ speaking to the Son. She was the wise woman, the undertaker, ferrier of the dead to the aid of the living, there was little truth icy veil of her eyes couldn’t reveal. As the Father approached, the _Isslöja_ pushed back her hood and regarded him with those eyes.

“This boy talks overmuch of gutting,” she said.

“It is pride,” he said before the Father could stop him.

“It is foolishness,” said the _Isslöja_ in a cracked voice, turning back to the Son. “Put it from your mind.” It seemed like the Son would argue and the Father glowered at him over her head, shaking his own to silence the boy and promising the worst if he didn’t. The Son bowed his head, petulantly.

“Children will be children, my lady,” the Father said as the _Isslöja_ turned back to him. “And when we regain the heavens once more, he will learn.”

“As well he must,” said the _Isslöja_ , then shook her head as if putting it from her mind. “The way is prepared. You are sure this creature is to be the last?”

“I am…” He fished the gene module from his belt pouch and showed her the reading. “Even alive he would be wondrous.”

“Hum.” She pressed her lips together. “Perhaps so, but we steal their lives, not torture them with living.”

Unless it was her precious _Kallvarg_ , he thought holding his eye closed as if in solemn chastisement.

“In any case…” she palmed a whistle into her hand. Made of bone, the whistle was fashioned into the shape of a wolf’s howling head, with small blue gel stones for eyes. “It is time,” she said.

It was time, the Father knew, time for the most daring part of his plan. He extended his own hand.

“Let me call it,” he said, knowing well that whomever called the _Kallvarg_ also controlled it. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were snapping with fury. It was her sacred duty and her place. She was as close to a goddess as they had and he, when there had been others to compare him to, had been but a lowly guard.

“I have grown fond of these people,” he said, the sincerity in his voice true. “It is not our tradition, but I feel if they see me controlling the beast, they will feel they are protected when we ascend.” And when she still looked doubtful added: “I would not leave them empty.”

He thought she would not give it to him and he would have to snatch it from her. Even the Son was ready, hand on his dagger and the Father prayed she did not see. He would have to talk to the boy about his penchant for blood. Finally, however, the _Isslöja_ relented, lying her hand flat and allowing him to take the whistle.

“I will be at the ship, preparing for ascension,” she said, and then, shockingly, her face creased with some sort of emotion. “I will almost miss him…”

He bowed his head at token respect for her grief, and glared at the Son until he did the same. The _Isslöja_ tugged her hood back on after a long moment and went back the way she had come. The Father’s hand trembled in a sudden wave of excitement. He had done it. Almost done it, he told himself, reminded himself.

“Accompany her,” he murmured, loud enough for her to hear, even as he pushed the last of the magician’s lock of hair into the gene module and handed it to the Son. The boy made a face and the Father well knew he would have preferred to call the _Kallvarg_ himself… but one day he would be able to call something even greater.

“Wait, my lady,” the Son called, pocketing the module before hurrying to catch up with her. “I would go with you in your lonely time.”

Not the proper words, but good enough. The Father chilled with pride… He waited until they had both disappeared in the blue transport light that would take them back to Sjöhem, then set the whistle to his lips and blew. No sound to be heard by him nor any human but there was nowhere the _Kallvarg_ could be that it couldn’t hear it. He waited, hardly daring to breathe. And then, after the space of a few pulses, it came-- loping over the horizon. What was called here a wolf, and a terrible shape it was. It was near as tall as the hall’s great doors, blackfurred and white fanged. Blue light shone from its eyes and waved around it in a soft aura and filled the footprints on snow with a lingering light until it faded like steam.

The _Kallvarg_ came to a stop before him, regarding him, head tilted to the side. The whistle in his hand grew warm. It was waiting.

“Take the bound one,” he murmured to the beast. “But do not kill him. Do not crunch his bones. Take him to rest below.” And then, he took the horn from his belt and blew it; three sharp blasts. The doors of the great hall opened. Growling low, the beast entered. There was a hushed beat of silence. The world held its breath. The Father did as well…

After what seemed an eternity, the _Kallvarg_ emerged, the limp body of the magician in its mighty jaws. The magician with the ridiculous apple still in his mouth. The Father resisted the urge to tell the _Kallvarg_ to chew him to splinters and instead contented himself with watching the wolf creature go.

Soon, the world would be his.

~*~*~*~

Leela sighed as she went through the snow, pulling K-9 behind her on a sledge. It was the only thing they had been able to find in short notice and at least it was easier than carrying him, but she was starting to get weary. The moon was only a pale slice now, just enough to see by once they were out of the trees… and going back the way she had come, following the same path that Fläck had made for her.

“Are you sure you know what you’re looking for?” Leela asked.

“Of course,” K-9 said. They had not found any sign of the Doctor, because of course they had not, but K-9 had picked up a strange energy signature to the north and east. Leela wasn’t sure of the significance of that except that it didn’t belong here and, if it didn’t belong here, the Doctor was sure to be there if anywhere. Even if not, it was a good place to start.

If he wasn’t there… well there were other places to look where he might have taken shelter. The abandoned villages or perhaps the hollows of trees or caves. She tried not to think of the alternative. That he was lying frozen somewhere under that snow, stiff and dead. She refused to let him be dead even in her mind. The thought was too empty and hollow even to think about. He was too big a man to be dead. Too loud, too annoying, too full of life. She didn’t want to be in that great empty box all by herself with only K-9 for company, caught on an alien world with alien peoples.

She shook her mind free of those thoughts as she topped the rise. The land swept down into a vast snow covered clearing, the icy lake and the strange bridge right in the center. Forest fringed around it, and lost in the trees in the distance, she could see even more villages, completely consumed by the woods. Like the lake consumed, Bestla had said. Leela could hear the memory of the old woman’s voice, deep in her mind.

‘ _Kallvarg_. The cursed lake. It freezes and consumes and lately feeds on the bodies of Odin’s fools.’

Were those villages Odin’s fools?

“Straight ahead, Mistress,” K-9 said and she startled a little having almost forgotten he was there. “Unusual energy source at twenty-five meters.”

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Something alien. Usually it was some shape or object she didn’t understand. But here it was just snow and lake and trees and stars. All very simple. And then a beast. Emerging from the shadow. Practically a shadow itself. She instinctively ducked low to the ridgeline, the dagger in her hand. It was huge. The top of its shoulder would easily clear even the Doctor’s head.

“Mistress?” said K-9.

“Shh!”

The beast’s ear twitched but it didn’t look their way. It seemed to have contented itself with a good hunt. An unidentifiable shape in its mouth. A train of sinew spooled down from its jaws, shifting oddly in the breeze.

No, not sinew! Leela recognized it just before it fluttered to the ground. A scarf!

“Doctor!” Leela threw herself down the slope on a barely controlled slide, but got her feet under her just in time to charge across the expanse of snow at the beast, the long coat hampering her legs. She threw herself in front of the beast, plowing up snow as she went.

“Let him go!” she snapped, raising the dagger. The beast did, jumping back two feet in alarm, tail bristling. She bent over the Doctor, scooping out the snow around him, carefully turning him onto his back. His eyes were closed and there was an apple lodged in his mouth. He must have been eating when he was attacked. Or… perhaps… not attacked because there was no blood that she could see and though he had a purplish black bruise above his left eye, he didn’t seem damaged at all. Surely the beast couldn’t have done that. He seemed to be breathing alright, too. She tried to dislodge the apple from his teeth and managed though a slice of it disappeared into his mouth. For an instant she feared choking and then he began to chew. Relief flooded through her. He was alright. …Somehow.

A part of her wanted to smack his great foolish head for worrying her. But then if she started that, she’d never stop. The shadow of the beast fell over them once more and Leela rose from the crouch, holding her dagger in threat. The beast whined and backed away, setting on its haunches in the snow and tilting its head at her. She lowered her dagger cautiously. It was…friendly? She took in the snout, the sharp fangs, the glowing blue eyes that…seemed so like… but it couldn’t be… …Could it?

“Fläck?”she said. The beast’s great jaw opened and his tongue lolled out deep and red, black tail thick as a tree branch thumping on the snow. Carefully she stepped over the Doctor and approached the creature. He lowered his head, snuffing at her and made a soft whining noise until she scratched him behind the ear.

“Hello?” the Doctor said. Remembering, Leela turned back to him and crouched beside him. He squinted up at her a moment before giving her that too big grin.

“Hello, Leela. Late as usual.”

“I couldn’t find you,” she said, trying to be annoyed and failing. “I am glad you’re well.”

“Me too.” Then he blinked at her and said: “Are you going to finish that?”

She wondered what he meant until she realized she was still holding the apple. She shook her head and held it out.

“You can have it,” she said. He wriggled his shoulders, pouted a moment then said:

“I’m afraid I’m rather tied up at the moment.”

Leela rolled her eyes at the pun and helped him sit up, squinting at the twine in the dim light and then slicing through it in a single motion.

“Ahh.” He brought his hands in front of him and flexed his long fingers. “Much better. Thank you.”

“Where where you?”

“I thought that would work,” said the Doctor in an absent voice. “Or else I just slept through it. Hm!” He strode over and picked up his scarf from the snow, draping it around his neck.

“Slept through what?” Leela said, trying not to sound too impatient. “What happened?”

“Hm? What? Oh… the apple.” He tossed it in the air and caught it again. “It might’ve counteracted whatever it was that Odin served me. Pleased they didn’t devil it. Wouldn’t’ve minded caramelized. Though I wonder how he knew the dose…”

“Odin’s fools,” Leela murmured, remembering the name. “I know of them.”

“Well that’s a bit harsh,” said the Doctor. “Though I’ve little love for them. Ooh…” He winced as he feathered his fingers over the bump on his head and then put his hands in his pockets and paced in front of the beast. “Hello you terrible old thing. Thank you for not putting holes in my vest with those big teeth of yours!”

Leela started to speak, then decided it wasn’t worth trying to pull the coherent story out of him before coming to stand beside him.

“About that creature,” she said. “He is actually a boy.”

“I should say so,” said the Doctor. “Care for a jelly baby?” And he tossed one at Fläck who jumped in the air to catch it. Leela stared at the Doctor startled.

“How did you know?”

“Oh…” He gave her a strange furrowed brow look. “You really don’t want me to say, do you?”

“But…” Then she understood and rolled her eyes. “No I mean he is a boy boy. A human boy.”

“A giant?”

“Perhaps taller than me.”

“Piffle,” he said, finishing the apple off and popping a jelly baby into his own mouth, offering her the bag. She shook her head.

“What does that mean?” she said. “Piffle.”

“It means are you sure? It doesn’t seem likely to me.”

“Yes,” Leela said, and then thought about it. “Well…I think I’m sure. I met a boy named Fläck with the same blue eyes and they both respond to the name and act the same way.”

“Maybe so, but listen the mass doesn’t add up.”

“The maths?” she echoed, wondering if he’d misspoke.

“No… Mass. As in… well the physical form of a body. Weight and shape and all that sort of thing.” He ate another jelly baby then stuffed the bag into his pocket. “Listen, this creature has been at this a long time. Even supposing he can grow into a wolf, where does the mass go when he returns to a boy?”

Leela thought.

“Maybe he is like the Tardis?”

The Doctor blinked, then laughed in a delighted way that warmed her to her toes.

“Very clever!” he said. “But no, I don’t think so. Now what about this lake…” he put his hands in the pockets of his coat and stared out over it.

“It is a graveyard,” Leela said, distracted somewhat by the sound of a familiar high pitched noise come from a distance. “For Odin’s fools. But I think it is just a lake.”

“Is it really?” said the Doctor.

“Yes.” There was a great movement of shadow and Leela glanced up to see Fläck, if it was Fläck, pad toward the other side of the lake on the other side of the strange, snow covered, bridge. It was lower than this side, Leela noted absently. She could see the scorched rock walls of the lake, as if something had been burnt long ago.

“I don’t think so…,” the Doctor said and Leela looked to find that he had wandered out onto the lake itself, the pale blue glow casting back on him.

“Be careful, Doctor,” Leela said, coming to the shoreline. “The ice might break.”

“It’s not ice.” He turned back to look at her. “You said it was a graveyard? There are skeletons. Decay.”

“Yes. As what happens in a graveyard,” Leela said, puzzled.

“But not one made of ice.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Ice preserves. Touch it. Tell me what you feel.”

Leela wasn’t sure that she wanted to touch it. When she knelt beside it, she saw a face looking back up at her, pale blue eyes milky white with death. She shuddered and looked away, touching a spot far from the corpse— and then taking her hand away.

“It’s warm,” she said, surprised.

“And?”

She hesitated. There was a warm blue glow to her left but when she glanced over saw nothing had changed. Back to the task at hand, she reluctantly touched the surface again.

“It’s even warmer now…” She pulled back to rest her hand on her knee. “And vibrating…. What do you think it is, Doctor?” It reminded her sometimes of when there were still moments in the Tardis, feeling the faint hum of it travel softly through her There was no answer and her head snapped up, fearing he had fallen through, like in the dream. But no, he was just quiet, squinting at something on the other side.

“Do you know, Leela, I think you might have been right,” he said almost as if to himself. Leela rose, confused. Then she saw Fläck emerge from the other side, a boy again, shaking and making gell like droplets fly off.

“It’s the lake,” she said. “That adds to him.”

“Yes…” the Doctor said. “ _Kallvarg_ and _Kallvarg_ …”

Well she didn’t know what that meant. But before she could ask, a door opened upward on the top of the bridge, shedding snow which spilled out both sides and hissed to water on the lake. A woman emerged, Bestla, as well as a scowly boy, both lit blue by the light.

“Oh no,” the Doctor said, making a face. Did he know them?

“So you’re still here,” Bestla said and Leela thought she might be talking to her except she was looking straight at the Doctor.

“Your dog has failed,” said the scowling boy.

“The Father has failed,” said Bestla. “He lacks the will to maintain complete control. Did he think it was a child’s game?”

“Well as you both have failed,” said the Doctor. “I don’t suppose it makes any difference now that you’ve got me just where you want me?”

Did he willingly go into a trap? Leela wondered. Why? It annoyed her but she quickly pushed those feelings away, instead a hand on her dagger once more. Clearly the Doctor knew more about what was going on than her, but she couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Bestla for reasons she couldn’t understand.

“They may have failed,” said Bestla. “But the _Isslöja_ has not.”

“Ahh,” said the Doctor as if he understood something deep and meaningful. “I warn you, whatever power you seek from me, I shan’t give it.”

“Power?” said Bestla. “We seek no power. Merely energy.” She bowed her head, a metal disc sliding into her palm half hidden. Leela tensed. She had a bad feeling like this. “The _Isslöja_ thanks you for your sacrifice, kind sir,” she said. “It is a long way home.”

Even from here Leela could see the Doctor’s eyes widen. She pressed whatever it was in her hand. The lake glowed and suddenly the Doctor disappeared beneath it.

“Doctor!” Leela cried, darting forward.

“No!” Bestla said. “Do not!”

There was a flash of blinding light. Leela hit the surface hard, landing on hands and knees. The lake was smooth as glass underneath her. Half blind, she scrambled for the place the Doctor had been.

“What have you done?!” Bestla was screaming. “Why did you throw the sequencer in? Do you know what that will cause?!”

“Father and I do not wish to go home,” the boy was saying. “We will rule this world instead!”

“I forbid it!”

There was a thud and screech and a high pitched yelp. A flash and the smell of ozone, but Leela put it from her mind. Instead she blinked the dazzle away as best she could, wiping at her watering eyes that were stinging from the pulsing blue light. The lake was almost hot underneath her, vibrating intensely. When she reached the spot the Doctor had fallen, she cupped a hand over her face and pressed her forehead to the glass. There he was, staring up at her through the ice with wide blue eyes, his hand raised. He didn’t move or even blink. Frozen.

“I’ll get you out!” she cried and tried to stab at the lake with her dagger. It didn’t so much as scratch and a hard strike sent the tip snapping off and skittering away.

“That won’t work,” Bestla croaked. Leela whipped her head to glare at the old woman who was lying on the snow covered bridge, Fläck holding her. Teeth bared she ran over to her, climbing onto the smooth surface, dagger raised. Fläck growled at her, the fur of his cloak seeming to rise in response.

“Tell me how to free him, old woman!” Leela snapped. “Where is the thing you opened the water with?”

“There,” the old woman said with a trembling gesture and Leela saw it had been smashed to pieces. Her hand convulsed over the dagger.

“There must be another way,” she said.

“There is… but he is already trapped. Thanks to me, Sjöhem knows his form.” Her teeth pulled back into a grimace that was almost a smile. “And thanks to the Son, Sjöhem will know his code.”

“Tell me how to do it,” Leela snapped, raising the dagger. She didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. He could die in there.

“Will you stab me if I do not?” she said with a faint smile. “It will have little meaning…” She raised her knotted hand from where she had clenched it over her stomach and Leela wrinkled her nose at the sudden smell of blood. It had snaked onto the snow, too, turning it red. Fläck whimpered, burying his face in her hair. Leela lowered the dagger, feeling something close to panic grip her. If only she could fix the broken disc or find something sharp enough to break through. But wait--!

“Fläck! “ She said and the boy raised his head, eyes wet with blue.

“Cannot go in unless summoned,” the woman said. “And they will call the stranger first.” She laughed dryly than winced. “I only meant to go home. After so long we would finally have the power. So much death and pain and misery for the sakes of the three of us where there once was many… And now the the Father’s monstrous task will continue until there is no hope left.”

“The Doctor can stop monstrous things,” Leela said, not feeling a faint sympathy for the dying woman despite everything. But only faint. Odin was not the only one responsible for the fools in the lake, if he was at all. Still she kept her tone pleading as she looked into the old woman’s cloudy eyes. “He has many times before. Let him free and he can help.”

“Ahd if he is the monstrous thing?” Bestla said, patting Fläck’s hair in a weary way. “Even if what you say is true, the only way to free him is to drain the containment units and that knowledge is beyond my ken. Not even the Father could operate those interfaces.”

“Interfaces,” Leela echoed. She had a vague idea of what those where. The Doctor could do something with them but also… “K-9!” she said, remembering. Bestla stared at her.

“K-9, he is up on the hill. He could work the interfaces.” Of that she was sure. If he could work with the tardis surely any sort of technology would be easy for him.

“Could he?” said Bestla surprised.

“Yes,” Leela said with a nod. “And when the Doctor is free, he can help you. Perhaps even take you home.” She was sure the tardis could manage that much at least, though it seemed it might take several tries to get there.

“I think home is beyond me now,” said Bestla. “My hands are too bloodied for it. My heart is too weary. My family against me.” She sighed. Then stirred. “But I will help you, if I may. Have Fläck escort your friend.” Her hand seized Leela’s wrist as if in a sudden panic. “If your friend is summoned it will be for naught,” she said. “In that battle of wills he will surely be lost. You must stop the Father before that can happen. If you trust me, I will tell you what to do.”

Leela hesitated, then nodded. It wasn’t as if Bestla had lied to her about anything and had even helped her when she was in need. And even if she was wrong, Leela thought, so long as the Doctor was free, he would find a way to set things right.

~*~*~*~

This should feel better, the Father thought as he sat at the chief’s table, drinking the ale and worrying the gristle of irritation in his mind. It was quiet as usually it was during this time of the solstice. The men and women who had been deep within their cups would have been snoring lustily, younger children asleep by the hearths while older ones struggled to stay awake by the wall. Only the young men and the serving women and the very old who could not sleep would have been awake, chatting quietly and waiting for the sun to rise on this, the longest darkest night of this world’s year.

The same was not true this solstice. The mood had changed like the shifting wind. It was still quiet. The children asleep, younger and older huddled together, but more the adults awake now, muttering now and again but mostly staring into their cups or else casting glances to the door or peeking glances at him at his table. This had been a hard winter for them, full of sacrifice though he had repeatedly told them of their eventual victory. And seeing the magician being taken had not sit well with them. He had been a guest. A stranger. Pulled from the snow. And to treat him thus had left a stain on what was left of their sense of hospitality after so long. At least the girl, Drifa, had finally stopped whimpering about it, though she had cried herself to sleep in the arms of her mother.

Well their minds would change, he thought, as he took another sip of ale. Once they saw the victory he brought them, they would put this terrible night from their minds. He ran his hand over the wolf whistle that still lay inside the belt pouch. The _Isslöja_ would have to be taken care of, too. If not convinced or forced to capitulate, then they had to drag what knowledge they could from her before sacrificing her as well. The Father smiled grimly. The people would not be sorry to see the _Isslöja_ go, that was for sure. She had been their witch for two generations and they would rejoice to see that curse finally banished.

One of the annoying ravens near his shoulder called, more of a harsh barking really. The Father resisted the urge to shoo it away. Once he had attained this ultimate victory, it didn’t matter if he carried himself as this legendary figure of these people. He would make his own legend without birds that shrieked and left feathers everywhere. He heard someone enter from the back and the way the people were stirring and nodding in deference told him the Son had returned. He bid the counselors to depart before the Son sat at the table, calling:

“Ale!” in a harsh happy voice, as annoying as the birds. He had no sense of presence and the sharpness of his tone caused several of the people to stir uneasily. This was not the time for such joyous confidence.

“Peace,” the Father said, laying a hand on the Son’s arm. And then, after the tired eyed woman had poured the drink said to the boy: “Well?”

“The seed has been planted,” the Son said with a thin smile, his eyes glittering over the rim of the drinking horn. A success, definitely, but also the Father could not shake the idea that the Son had gotten away with something.

“The ferrier?”

“There’s no cause for worry, Father,” the boy said. “Should we have music?”

“Now is not the time for such things,” the Father said, raising his voice for the benefit of others. “The world is dark and still and sleeping and so must we be until the dawn brings back the day.” It was a traditional sentiment, but perhaps the Son was growing tired of those or perhaps he was growing too old to be chastised because his cheeks pinked and his eyes grew hard. In a decade or so he would keep his own counsel and the Father noted to himself that he would have to keep on the Son’s heels until then.

“And yet, when the dawn arrives,” he added, trying to appease both. “Why should we not celebrate? I know fear weighs heavily on your minds, but the man was a sacrifice ordained by the gods. Why else would they have allowed it to happen?”

“Of course, my lord,” said Klefi into the silence. “As always your wisdom prevails.” There were other murmurs of assent through the great hall but the Father could tell their hearts were not in it.

“They are not pleased with you,” murmured the Son, a little too gleefully for his peace of mind. The Father sat back, taking a drink from the horn. The dawn would bring happiness. Of that he was sure. A moment of peace and he was almost lulled into contentment. Then there was commotion at the front entrance. Björn the iron bear came bursting in, looking pale and shaken. Others rose to their feet at the sight of them and so did the Father, wondering what could have terrified the warrior to this extent.

“The _Isslöja_ ,” he gasped. “She comes!” A great cry went up and almost in a single movement, the people moved away from the door, snatching up the children as they went who woke fearful and dazed.

“She what?” said the Father, casting an annoyed glance to the Son and then feeling a shock at the boy’s pale wide eyed expression. Why should he be so fearful? Unless… he had done something. He had a right to be fearful then, the Father thought, or would when they were in private and the Father could punish him justly.

“There is nothing to fear,” said the Father, coming to stand in the center of the room, trying to calm himself and the pinching of his heartstem. What could the _Isslöja_ want? What could she have found out? He would have to speak fast. Make her an ally. “We will welcome her,” he said. For it was wise to welcome a wandering witch so she wouldn’t feel insulted at the snub. Or so he had heard the people say. And he didn’t wish to anger the _Isslöja_ further.

Björn the iron bear nodded in a faint way and pulled open the door for her. She entered, dressed in heavy furs, the hood pulled low over her face.

“You are welcome to our hall, _Isslöja_ ,” said the Father, spreading his arms. “Come, sit at my table. What is mine is yours.”

She was quiet. Then raised a finger and pointed at him and he felt the jab as if she had touched him.

“You have broken the law of hospitality once already,” she said. “Don’t think you will be forgiven for that.” A low frightened moan went up among the people.

The Father narrowed his eyes. Her voice was far too young. That--

“That is not the _Isslöja_!” the Son snapped, rising and pointing. “That is the magician’s friend!”

Friend? What friend? Why did no one tell him the man had a friend?

“Magicians and witches are friends, Odin’s fool,” said the woman, pulling back the hood and shaking back long brown hair from her face. It was not a face he remotely recognized. Not even with the blue eyed glow of a modulated sequence. The boy snarled and rose from his seat, dagger flashing. There was dried blood on it.

“Sit down!” the Father snapped.

“I will not!”

“Sit!” He grabbed the Son by the shoulder and forced him into the chair. What had the young fool done?

“If you give back what you’ve stolen,” the woman said. “You’ll be forgiven. If not, you’ll be doubly cursed.”

“Impetuous woman,” the Father said, hand on the pommel of his sword. Whoever she was, she was obviously working with the _Isslöja_. Why the ferrier of the dead was not working for her own he could well guess. “I have stolen nothing. You are clearly an impostor. Leave before I take your head from your shoulders.”

“You can try,” she said, casting aside the furs. Underneath was hardly impressive. She was a small woman wearing nothing much despite the chill and a broken dagger in her hand. He laughed. What did this idiot think she was doing? Even one of the boylings against the wall could take her, or Drifa on a good day.

“I will show you Odin’s might,” he said, drawing the sword and swinging it at her. He struck air. She had moved out of the way as easy as breathing. He swung again and she dodged again, darting to the side before running at him, trying to get under his guard. He growled and shifted his grip in an attempt to get her legs out from under her but she met the blade with her dagger, there was the faint shriek of metal on metal and he watched her dance back with his strength pushing her, turn out of the way and jam an elbow where an organ would be were he a human. Thankfully he was not though it sent a spike of pain through him regardless.

“You call yourself a fighter?” he snarled.

“I call myself a witch,” she said, cocking her hip to the side and looking up at him. “And what do you call yourself, clumsy? How do you win your battles?”

He wanted to run her through like a boar on a spit. But he could feel the people watching him and knew that if he couldn’t kill her effectively, they would start to doubt, too. Maybe a little at first, but it would grow. Or maybe worse they would think he would lose because she was a witch and he had defied her and flouted hospitality. No he would not fight her with this. Not when there was a much better way.

“I fight with my wits,” he said. “And my strength comes from a greater place than you can imagine.” He pulled the wolf whistle from his belt pouch. Her eyes widened.

“No!” she said, perfectly. She came toward him but just then the Son leapt from the chief’s table and attacker her with a snarl. She only barely met his blade with a shriek of metal and then they were fighting, blades crashing and sparking as she tried to fend him off.

The Father blew the whistle.

There was silence in the room. Even the Son pulled back the attack and watched the door with eager anticipation. The Father smirked.

There as a space of a few pulses.

One.

Two.

Three.

And then a howl, low and rumbling, vibrating through his bones, echoing in the air. His smirk widened into a grin.

“The _Kallvarg_ comes,” he said, his own voice harsh with excitement. “At my command.”

There was the unmistakable tread of paws crunching snow. The people cowered. The Son matched his grin. The woman paled. A pause and then the great hall doors flew open, the wolf pushing his way in and splintering the door along the way. He was bigger than the _Isslöja’s_ stupid boy and filled nearly the whole space. It was good that he was big because his eyes barely glowed at all and his fur, instead of being black, was dark brown and a bit curled.

“Do you see the girl? The imposter?” the Father said, pointing. “Kill her. Snap her bones in half.”

The new _Kallvarg_ turned his great head her way. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air and the Father gave her grudging credit that she did not back away from that stare.

Then the _Kallvarg_ sat, and turned its head up and to the side as if absolutely refusing.

The Father could not help but stare. How could--! Of all the impudent--! The whistle was warm in his hands. He only had to think a bit more. Give it a bit more will. He focused, gritting his teeth.

“I said, kill her!” he snapped. “Do it now! I command you.”

The _Kallvarg_ snorted, not twitching a muscle save to lay its ears back. That creature--! That foul--! That loathesome--!

“I shall kill her then!” said the Son. Then the _Kallvarg_ did move, but only to laconically place a massive paw onto the Son’s back, squashing him to the ground. The dagger flew from his hands and he flailed his arms and legs, squalling like he was fresh out of his pod, demanding to be let up. Someone began to laugh and was quickly silenced. The Father’s face grew red. He would not be so undone!

The false _Isslöja_ approached the _Kallvarg_ , saying tentatively: “Doctor?” and reached up for him. The wolf lowered his head and let her scratch his muzzle. A beast tamed by the witch. No… No, the Father would not stand for this! He would not let victory be so easily snatched from him!

He placed the burning whistle to his lips and blew again. The wolf’s ears twitched and he regarded the Father with a withering look that was almost human. The Father smirked. Even if this _Kallvarg_ would not attend, another would. Annoyed, he waited, then more, wondering if the creature would ever come. For a moment he thought his plan had already dissolved when he heard the crunch of snow again--

And the true _Kallvarg_ entered, blackfurred and blue eyed and glowing faintly.

“Kill him!” the Father snarled, the whistle growing white hot and blistering in his hand. “Kill the wolf and the girl! Destroy them so nothing is left!”

The _Kallvarg_ approached the larger wolf, sniffing at his snout in what seemed to be a polite way, black tail thumping.

“It is alright,” said a small mechanical voice that seemed to be coming out of a small silver box half buried in the fur between the _Kallvarg’s_ shoulder blades. “They have decided they are friends.”

“You cursed beast!” the Father shrieked. Fine. “I said _kill_ \--” Then he yelped as the whistle fractured in his hands, falling to splinters. Fine! If the _Kallvarg_ would not kill the thrice cursed annoying magician, then he would! He held his sword behind him and approached slowly. Fortunately the great idiot was distracted by the girl and the darker wolf by his side. The Father grinned, gripping the sword in both hands.

“ _Thus you die_!” He thrust his blade upward. There was a sudden movement and the brown wolf was knocked aside, he found the blade burrowing through black fur and felt the resistance of muscle and flesh and kept pushing until he was sure it could reach the great heart. So it wasn’t the magician, what of it? He would still be a man who had killed the _Kallvarg_! No one would doubt his strength again! Glowing blue flowed down his sword and he yanked it out, moving away from the creature before it collapsed on top of him. It fell with a thud, sending a smaller metal dog tumbling and the Father decided not to wonder about it.

“Do you see?!” he said, putting a booted foot on the _Kallvarg’s_ stomach. “I am a god!”

No one said anything. Silence filled the room, quieter than a winter night. Then, a low growl that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. The magician wolf was pulling away from the wall, cracked and splintered from his weight, and coming toward him, teeth bared. The Father dropped his sword as he staggered back.

“No!” he said fumbling for his transporter. “NO!”

He pressed the button.

“Father!” the Son screamed. But there was no turning back as the blue light swept around him and then sent him tumbling into the snow, rolling down a steep hill before he could finally stop himself. Sjöhem was lying there as it had always been, metal body shining under the blue light of the bio-lake, which was draining out on either side, staining the snow blue.

“No!” he cried again, running and stumbling down the hill, rage filling him as the old woman emerged from it, a hand on her stomach. He grabbed her by shoulder and shook her.

“What have you done, you stupid old woman!” he snarled. “Now we can’t even go home!”

“Made things right,” she said with a faint smile. “And you were never interested in home…” She touched his cheek. “Come, we can find a place he--”

He shoved her aside, diving into the ship himself.

“Stop!” she cried. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll--!”

He ignored her, bursting into the control room and pressing something, anything, trying to figure out how to draw the bio-lake back to where it should be. He refused to be trapped here! He refused to be defenseless! He would fix it or die in the attempt! The air was blistering hot and he pulled off his furs and his tunic, his heartstem pinching as he slammed his fist into a console, sparks flying. Something began to beep. Slow at first and then faster and faster. A sign appeared on the cracked monitor, flashing ‘warning, warning’ in the language of the ancients.

There was a clatter behind him and he watched, heartstem clenching, as the Son clambered into the control room, face flushed red with rage.

“How dare you leave me!”

“Go!” the Father shouted, shoving the transporter button at him and pressing it. There was a click and a shower of sparks.

“What?” the boy said, then looked up, face paled.

“Father…”

The beeping increased. The air felt like fire. The Father closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the Son.

~*~*~*~

There was a terrific boom that vibrated through her and Leela ducked her head as something slammed into the great hall from the side. Wood creaked and snapped. The pine trees toppled. The birds flew and twined greenery fell to the floor. People shrieked and she found herself shrieking as well.

Then there was silence save for the ringing in her ears and then nothing. Leela breathed. Her heart racing. She returned to where Fläck lay, a beast still, eyes closed, but still warm. The Doctor, an even greater beast, was lying on the other side, forepaws crossed as he watched, then he laid his cheek in those paws and let out a great sigh.

“Can you do something for him?” she said, speaking to anyone who might hear. Might be able to help. “We should bandage him at least.”

“Negative, Mistress,” said K-9, tail low as he whirred to her side. Then: “There is nothing to be done.”

Leela closed her eyes. Then felt a strange shift in the air.

“Caution!” K-9 said. Leela got to her feet, hand on her dagger, just in time to see blue gel like water burst from the forms of Fläck and the Doctor, bubbling out and flowing over the room, putting the fires out with a hiss and casting the room in darkness. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust, but the only light came from the red of K-9’s eyes.

“What happened.”

“They’ve reverted,” said Bestla in the doorway. Light flared from her fingers and she raised the lantern above her head. It was dim but cast enough of a glow so that Leela could see nearly everything, including the people in the corner of the room, hanging onto one another and watching, the light glittering in their fearful eyes.

“Who are you?” said a girl. Bestla hesitated.

“She is the one that broke the curse,” Leela said. Because why frighten them more. “See? They’ve returned to normal.” Though her heart hurt a little as she saw Fläck on the floor, eyes closed, a cut in his chest. Bestla went to cradle the boy in her arms and Leela stood, sloshing to the Doctor and turning him onto his back so he wouldn’t inhale…whatever this was. He squinted up at her.

“Hello,” he said in a tired voice. “We must stop meeting this way.” She couldn’t find it in her to smile.

“Fläck is dying,” she said.

“Dead is more like it,” he said quietly. “And has been for some time.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“He was not found as a baby, but as a young man,” said Bestla in a murmur. “He was not dead but dying… and the bio-lake latched onto his consciousness somehow.”

“He was the ship, in other words,” the Doctor said. “An entity fed by the energies of the bio-lake. Not alive as a human might understand it, but living nontheless.”

“Strange, is it not?” Bestla said, her face wet. “How you come to care for something so alien.”

Leela was going to say she understood the feeling, but the Doctor was watching so she did not. He frowned at her, clearly put out by this and she tried to hide a smile, pressing the side of her nose as he so often did.

~*~*~*~

The sun was rising, a rim of gold on the pink and blue horizon, easily viewed through the massive hole in the side of the great hall. The Doctor cheered it with the rest of them, raising his drinking horn in celebration and chugging the quite decent ginger beer he’d since acquired from the Tardis. Some young people began to dance and sing around the bonfire that had been set up just outside and he laughed, inclined to join them-- Only the wave of weariness that hit him when he tried to stand sent him right back to sitting on the throne once more. Oh well, perhaps a bit later then. He adjusted the holly crown as it had slipped and leaned back, contented, more or less.

Bestla sat beside him, looking ancient but not as surreal as she did standing on the ship’s hull. Her hair was snow white, her cheeks liverspotted, her eyes clouded. Old even for her kind which was fairly old indeed as far as ages went. Though she was yet twice as young as him with perhaps a decade or so left. She looked out on the humans with a kind of bemused fondness, patting the cloak that had once draped around Fläck’s shoulders.

“I didn’t expect to survive,” she said.

“Funny how that happens,” he replied. Though he’d never been in much doubt. Even if he wasn’t quite sure what had happened between being trapped in blue and waking up in a lake of blue. He knew, intellectually, he must have been some kind of wolf like Fläck, but when he tried to remember, the overall impression was a great deal of fur and wanting a belly rub.

“And now… they are my people…”

And a happy, relieved people they were. Perhaps their world had ended on that night, but it had come back to them once more, renewed with song and promise.

“Well it’s not a bad place to be.” He could offer to take her home. The thought was there lingering in the back of his mind. He could still remember, distantly, murkily, how it was to be marooned among celebratory humans. He began to hum ‘come all ye faithful’ under his breath, though wasn’t quite sure where it had come from.

“Not a bad one,” she murmured. “I do not know them well. And yet I probably know them better than I will ever remember my own people. So many years ago now. Even their names are but a blurred memory.”

“Will you stay?” he asked. She said nothing. Stroked the fur.

“Your dog was very helpful instructing my b-- Fläck how to treat my wound. I should thank you for that.”

“You’re quite welcome.” He finished the drinking horn, watching K-9 wag his tail at a pack of children that seemed enchanted by them. Well they had never nearly lost to him at chess either.

“So now that I seems I will not die… I suppose I shall stay with them… help them as I may.” She sighed. “I certainly owe them.”

“I have a feeling you might find greater comfort here than you know,” he said, spotting Drifa coming over to them with a large fur. She looked at him and ducked her head but he smiled as if she had never force fed him a sleeping draft.

“I have brought you something,” Drifa said to Bestla. “The _Isslöja_ must have left it behind, but I am sure it will protect you and keep out the cold.”

“Thank you,” Bestla said, allowing the young woman to drape the cloak around her. When the girl left, Bestla tugged the cloak more solidly around her and said: “You seem to be from elsewhere too.”

“Oh, far elsewhere,” he said, setting the horn down and patting his pockets for his jelly baby bag. Really this place was horrible on sweets. He failed to find it though did find a package of licorice whips which he’d forgotten about-- though they were still good it seemed.

“How much do you know of us?” she said. “Of the Främlings?”

“This and that. Brilliant geneticists rather put on hold when the Planet became uninhabitale. Traveling about in generational ships… fueled by…” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Chemical reactions of decay.” He said, taking a stab in the, if not dark, at least the slight murk.

“Among other things,” Bestla said. “Though I don’t understand it much myself. Even though I suppose I should. Generations helping and sustaining other generations. That was our way. Then we found there was another home that had been founded for us, so we made our way with haste.” She shook her head. “Perhaps too much haste. There was starvation, illness… plague…” she shuddered. “And finally we crashed here while passing this planet.”

“Orbital destabilizer,” the Doctor said. “Probably.”

“We crashed into it as well,” Leela said, coming into the building, light squinting around her form a moment before it faded back to dark. He wrinkled his nose at her.

“We did not crash, no matter what K-9 told you.” They had merely failed to avoid it, that was all. Honestly. He had known it was there, after all. Just the TARDiS had been a bit sluggish that day. Still they’d landed and had a marvelous adventure-- for the most part, so all was well that ended well.

“If you say so, Doctor,” said Leela, clearly not believing him. Others were starting to peer in, watching them with a sort of wonder. The Doctor took his feet off the table and stood, brushing out his bear skin cloak-- given to him sheepisly by a man known as Björn the iron bear as payment for clouting him on the head, then snuck the drinking horn in his pocket.

“Well, Leela, what say we take a walk,” he said. Before they tried to crown him king or do something else absurdly embarrassing.

“Yes,” she said, understanding as she always seemed to.

“Doctor…” said Bestla. “If… you see any Främlings… will you let them know of Sjöhem?”

“I will,” he said, offering her one last smile before adjusting the holly crown once more. He watched as Leela coaxed K-9 on the sledge and they started off for the TARDiS with cheerful goodbyes at their back. What a way to go, he thought, chewing on another whip. He craned his head to look at the massive pawprints in the snow, watching them until he could no longer turn his head, then gazing forward again. Leela bumped into him gently, as if a sign of affection or trying to get his attention.

“I was worried about you,” she said. “I thought you had died.”

“I don’t die so easily,” he said. “Licorice whip?”

She shook her head. Didn’t look at him. She must be upset. Well, why, he couldn’t gather. He almost died quite a lot. But perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t precisely entirely about him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Well it didn’t go quite as I planned, but it wasn’t bad. Happy Yuletide, Leela,” he said, as he watched the sun, now cleared of the hills, filling the air with warmth. She leaned against him, her arm snaking under his coat and around his waist. It was a firm grip and warm and he smiled.

“Happy Yuletide, Doctor.”


	7. I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, even in the midst of war, there remains a little hope.

[I'll Be Home for Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4aA_K2MF5E)

_**December 25th, 1918** _

It is over. Henry watches from the window as they spill out into the snowy evening in ones and twos. Friends and relatives, full of food and full of warmth if still a bit raw around the edges still. It's only been a little over a month. Not everyone has even returned home despite nothing left to fight. He does not envy them those cold days, waiting, agonizing, to come home to whatever they have left.

And so many others are not coming home at all.

He was almost one of those. He looks at his watery reflection in the window. A younger man than he feels like with an older body that he has gotten used to. He has a chair and an arm that no longer works, pain when the weather changes, tears in his heart… But he is alive. He still draws breath. And now the Future looms, dark and unknowable. The War is over, and now what next? It's not an answer he can fill in…

He hears Jill come up behind him and smiles for her.

"Well," she says, kissing the top of his head. "We survived it."

"We did," he says. An old tradition. He almost wants her to stay. Almost asks. They've always been close and he knows she will if he asks. The words are on his lips but then Frank from the other room says:

"Coming?"

She raises her eyebrows at Henry, as if knowing his thoughts. She always seemed to, even when they were kids. It must come from being the oldest.

"Merry Christmas, Jilly," he says.

"Merry Christmas." And then lower. "Will you be alright?"

He nods. Squeezes her hand. Of course he will. Of course. She plants another kiss on his head and tucks the blanket more securely around his legs, then leaves. A moment later, they are out of the door, arm and arm and holding the hand of their little girl who has only just met her Father despite being four-years-old and is shy of him.

It's fine. He is perfectly alright. And not completely bereft of company after all. He pulls away from the window and pushes himself to where the old cigar box is, caught in the shadow of the end table and barely able to be seen. He pours himself the last of the wine, then opens the box, eyes misting as he looks at the small pack of letters, tied with cord and written in a crabbed lazy hand.

Another tradition. A new one. A painful one. But one that he puts himself through every year for reasons he can't adequately explain even to himself. Taking a sip of the wine to bolster himself, he opens the first letter, as he always does, drinking in the crooked letters, trying to remember the rough burr of that voice coming of the thin face and drippy nose whenever it was the slightest bit damp. Trying to remember the way the thin fingers labored and his hair continually fell over his angled face.

Once again, as he has for three years now, Henry reads the strange and wonderful and miraculous doings of that December four years ago…  


_December 17th, 1914_

_My lad Henry,_

_How is the spine, old boy? Are you still winking at pretty nurses, you rogue? It's not been the same without you here. Things are going well as they could be. Seems less rats around. Cpl. Longmire got a plug of tobacco from home & gave us all a fair whack. I only got a pinch, but it was as good as anything I've ever had. We all miss your card tricks if not your louses. Benny Moss said he's going to find out how you did it if it kills him, I'll report back any changes (but he hasn't got a chance)._

_Anyway, we're up & over the wall soon. I'll say hi to the Jerry that did you in for you. Don't worry about me for I am spry & you know how fast I can go when I've a mind._

_Fondly,_

_Peter_  


He smiles, feeling the old creaking in his heart. The last hum a drum letter that Peter had ever sent. Or as hum a drum as it got there hunched frozen in trenches and scratching at lice and the fear that maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day soon you would come afoul of a bullet of with your name on it. He tries not to dwell on that and instead tries to remember how Peter looked back then, helmet stuffed on his thick hair, thin nose always dribbling as he crouched over whatever he was scribbling, fast and yet tender.

With a sigh, he puts the letter aside, and goes to the next one, where the strange thing happened.  


_December 20th, 1914_

_My lad Henry,_

_I heard you got deported to good old Aberdeen. Not your usual stomping ground but I hear Scots girls have legs for days. If you should find one to your liking, see if she has a sister. You know my type & if she has green eyes like you, all the better. That way I'll at least remember you when we are in the thick of it._

_Queer thing happened today. A General Inspector has showed up & has Cpl. Longmire in a right flap. No one can figure out what he's meant to do but he has the papers & we lined up for the spit & polish parade, but he barely looked at us before he told us to go back to our business. He is a queer old general. He doesn't wear a uniform, instead a black leather jacket & reminds me a little of a longshoreman I met once in Manchester._

_You would think, once done, he would go back behind the lines with the others, or to the bunkers, but he just sits in the trenches with the rest of us, leaning against the wall & watching as if expecting something horrible. Greg the prig thinks he may be a spy, but I think there is nothing calculating about his eyes. They are very blue like light on the water. Not as nice as my green eyed girl, but striking all the same._

_Please take care & save a ham for me in Aberdeen. With any luck I'll be home for Christmas. (haha)_

_Fondly,_

_Peter_

_P.S. Moss went off to no man's land. Next time I am able, I will leave a card with him._  


Poor old Moss. Poor old Mosses. Both sons gone, though the brother lasted longer he'd heard. The family is small and quiet now. He shakes his head and reads the lines of the General Inspector who was not what he seemed. He's tried so many times to track this man down, but no one seems to have heard of him. A great secret, Henry supposes. Perhaps a secret even to the army. But sometimes, when he's asked, he's gotten a queer slant eyed look in return as if people know more than they say.

It is no matter he supposes and tries to forget the mystery yet again, smiling at the thought of his green-eyed girl. It's a wonder he'd never actually had one of his own. Peter had always been able to charm anyone he wanted with a smile and a two eyed wink.  


_December 23rd, 1914_

_My lad Henry,_

_It's as bitter a cold day as it has ever been so forgive my handwriting. Things have been hard since last I wrote & there is much to say but there doesn't seem quite enough words to say them. We had a hard shelling last night & we lost five good men. Only five feels like a blessing but the doctor (as the General Inspector preferred to be called) seemed deeply moved by this even though a distracted man could not see it._

_There was a lot to do & I knew we were going for a push soon but I was Concerned and asked him to help with some small task. I don't believe the doctor is in charge of anything or at least not like those old fellows behind the line who like to push without seeing how it is down here in the trenches. He helped willingly enough even getting into the muck. Me and some of the other lads think he is not a General or Inspector of any sort, instead some poor soul who wandered in looking for friendship. Why he chose a trench, God only knows._

_Anyway to lift his spirits I told him of home & Jilly & May & my Mum if you can & my green-eyed girl who I love so dear. I told him of that last holiday that we took at your aunt's farm & scared the feathers out of the goose girl when we came up out of the water. That made him smile & he asked me if I would like to go home._

_Of course I would, I told him, & you know I would. But I would stay & serve my time with the rest of the lads. He seemed to become cross & asked if I wanted to die. I said no, I would not, but I would if were to die it would not be as a coward & as our brothers had to give our lives for what is important. I.e. showing the Jerrys what-for. He said that was a stupid thing to risk my life for & if that was what I had in mind, it didn't matter how I died. That they and we were one & the same._

_I was spitting mad & the other lads had caught wind of the conversation & something drastic may have happened had he Cpl. Longmire not stepped in & taken him to the bunker. I wouldn't have hurt him, & you know me well that I have not changed so much, but I can't say as much for the others. It was a hard shelling as you remember._

_I wonder who that man really is & as strange as it is to say I will miss his quiet presence. He carried himself like a soldier but whatever he was, he seemed above this war somehow. As angry as I was I feel he meant well. I hope to see him again._

_I shall end this now, kiss all the girls for me & don't forget the ham. My mouth is already watering for it._

_Fondly,_

_Peter_  


The memories make him choke as they always do and he has to look away to compose himself. That goose girl has never forgiven them for that and every time they go- they had gone back to the farm since then she had given them a glare over her narrow nose. As for the Doctor, as every reading, he's surprised by the man's audacity to speak like that in front of the others, so hard worn and battle weary. He had been more than a little angry at the man himself for saying such a thing, even if he had apparently tried to smooth it over in the end. But lately, Henry has found himself falling in line with that thought more and more.

He smiles gently at the line with the ham and kisses it gently as he has done so many times, the word faded. He's not been able to stand the smell of ham sense and maybe never will again, but the memory is enough to sustain him. It's funny how the memory of the thing is sometimes more vivid than the thing itself, and means more, too.

He thumbs to the next letter, smiling faintly at the blotches where tears had struck the paper, smearing the words here and there, though destroying nothing.  


_December 25th, 1914_

_My lad Henry,_

_I'm writing this sitting next to Franz & he says hello. We have talked for four or five hours now & I am sure that he has a green eyed girl of his own somewhere. I don't know how to describe what happened save as some sort of miracle. I know you are laughing & perhaps dismissing this as a fantasy but read on with an open heart & you will see._

_It all began around midnight & I was on late watch when one of the Germans on the other side seemed to realize it was Christmas & began to sing Silent Night. Soon that is all we could hear. It is a beautiful song in German & I don't care who disagrees. I will have Franz transcribe some of the lyrics. He asks to forgive his penmanship as he has lost three fingers to frostbite._

_**Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht** _

_**Alles schläft; einsam wacht** _

_**Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.** _

_**Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,** _

_**Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh** _

_**Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh** _

_I listened, & I felt something I have never felt before & I remembered what that man had said & began to sing myself. & then, you would not believe, Greg the (not so much) prig joined me & then the others. Our voice raised in song on that snowy night, English & German. I think we were all crying & I remembered home & I remembered you._

_This was not the end! Christmas Day there was a single day truce declared & we met in no man's land, shaking hands and laughing as if were were old friends. Cpl. Longmire & some of the others set up a game of football & I did not care to play because I saw Franz struggling to roll a gasper & I went to help him. His English is as good as my German which means we gestured & laughed & cried a little too._

_& then we saw the doctor, on the edge of the field watching us  & invited him over. I was surprised & happy to see him again & Franz was as well. He sat for a while & we shared with him our family & green eyed girls & he did not say much & Franz told him he didn't have to be so lonely. I said at least to find a green eyed girl of his own & he smiled and said he might._

_Before he left, he said he was happy for us. That he had forgotten what it felt like to have hope, but he remembered. & that was all. He left. There was a queer noise sometime later that no one else seems to have heard but Franz & I. I wonder if it was a shared dream._

_It might have been because the day seemed to have lasted forever & I am surprised it is night as I write this. I said goodbye to Franz & he to me. Tomorrow we might well kill one another. Or if not tomorrow the day after. Why do people fight? I will to protect my home & those I love, but it feels like an old man's war & I can't even remember how it started. I will try not to shoot him if I can but even if I never do there are his comrades who will fall & who we have laughed with just this day. _

_Let us hope this is a never again._

_But to you, my lad Henry, a Happy Christmas. I will be thinking of you in this cold & wishing you were here to lean up against. Please save this letter if you never save any others so that people remember there is hope in the world._

_With great fondness,_

_Peter_  
  


_December 28th, 1914_

_Henry,_

_Franz has joined Benny. I will miss him. I miss you._

_With fondness,_

_Peter_  


He tries to feel for this Franz, if only because he was Peter's friend. But the thinking of him leaves the cold bitter twist of hatred in his heart. It should only be him and not Moss or Greg the Prig or any of his other mates who had gone up to just get mown down like so much wheat. Revenge is worthless, he can understand it. But that doesn't mean he can forgive and he will not. Will never.

Henry takes a few breaths, finishes his wine, stares out the window onto the dark street of shifting snow caught by the flickering lamps. He waits until he can breathe again, until the bitterness smoothes from his throat, until his hand unclenches from the arm of the chair that he hates, that he needs.

He casts his eyes down to the last letter. The very last one, which he has opened so many times the flap has nearly worn off the envelope. With shaking hands he opens it again, able to last through all things but this. His eyes sting and he wipes them with a thin, useless hand before pulling out the softening paper. It is almost impossible to believe it's real as he stares down at the letter as he'd gotten it the same day it had been written on. As if some sort of cruel joke. But something in him believes regardless. Or wishes to. Hopes to.  _Believes_. Because among anything else, before any soldier  
  


_December 30th, 1914_

_My darling Henry_

_Do not be alarmed. At least not for the contents. The Doctor says he will deliver this himself and no eyes will see it but mine and yours. To prove to you that it is me and not some stranger, I know of the mole just on your inner thigh that I love so well._

_I'm in hospital now, my sweet. I am an arm out of the army, as we say, and half a lung. Other things as well, but they do not bare saying. It is difficult to write so I will say what I most want you to hear and what I wish I could say to you in the street out loud as the Doctor said people will be able to do one day. And that is this:_

_I love you._

_A thousand times I love you. I love your laugh and your tears, your sighs and gentle cries. I love every part of you and have since you tenderly took my hand all those years ago when I was homesick and I couldn't move. I love how you believed in me and I believe in you, I still do. Even if you can't walk or do the other things you used to, you will still be a thousand times a man to me. The best man. The one that will help change the world and I know it._

_I will be home to you if I can. The Doctor won't and can't tell me because he says no one should know their own future. So I will try and fight and keep my eyes open for another day. If the worst should come to pass, my darling Henry, please do not keep my ghost for ever. (Though a few weeks will be nice. Haha) I want you to be happy as best you can so if you want to make any promises to me, make it that._

_Your loving Peter who would not be the man he is without you._  
  


"And you," he murmurs, holding the letter away from him so he won't wet it with his own tears. These words which have carried him through so many long painful days and lonely nights. It had given him hope, too. A kind hope. A cruel hope. That things would somehow continue to be a miracle. That this Doctor… man, general…angel…whatever he was… would do something… Would change something… And then the news that the small village where Peter had been in hospital in waiting to be moved had been taken by German forces. The news of those left behind had been chaotic at best, but the rumors were the worst— shot in their beds, sent to prisoner of war camps, left to die in the snow… immolated when the hospital was set ablaze…

Whatever the case, Peter's mum had gotten the letter… The funeral had been held… the body buried in an unmarked grave in France along with so many others. Who could tell with twisted blackened limbs? Distorted faces… He closed his eyes… once more, read the letter, then the small picture at the bottom. The two of them, resting head to head and whole bodied, dressed smartly in uniform as if war was an exciting game and not a hell on earth.

But he will remember instead his beautiful eyes and kind face, gentle words and laugh that carried like bells on the water. He kisses the picture. Lingering. Wishing he could breathe him in one more time. Whatever happened… he thanks the Doctor, for giving him this, this one last piece of his heart. It's a paper heart and a memory, but a heart nontheless and one more than he had ever had.

There is the metallic rattle of the letter slot. Probably a collector. Henry packs away his treasure, hiding it once more where it had been and rolls himself to the front door. The letter is on the floor, a creamy white envelope with something like holly on the back. Henry grunts and bends to pick it up, shifting and squirming, wincing at the bolt of pain that shoots through him before he finally has it between his fingers.

There is no post on Christmas…

The realization goes through him, a shiver of cold. Hands shaking, he turns the envelop over but there is no indication to who it might be from, so he opens it. The writing is odd, unfamiliar and he reads as if his eyes are magnetized to the page.  


_Sometimes, most of the time, the future is fixed, especially when there's a war. People die unfairly. People die tragically. It's a messy business. But sometimes,_ _just sometimes, there exists a little sliver of chance. If you can be there and if you're very lucky and_ _**very** _ _good,_ _you may just have a miracle._

_Kind regards,_

_The Doctor_

_P.S. You might want to open the door._  


With a yelp Henry drops it, feeling burned, feeling almost horrified, wanting to run from this impossibility, wanting to run from the queer feeling which is charging through his veins like electricity. He sets his hand on the cold knob, heart pounding in his throat, closes his eyes, opens the door.

It's cold. Snow drifts on his face like kisses.

With a deep shaking breath, he opens his eyes once more, and finds himself staring at the angled man with the thin drippy nose and kind eyes in the oh so familiar face, smiling at him and crying through a curtain of shifting snow. One arm and one empty sleeve.

"Pe…Peter…?"

"Sorry I'm late, Henry my lad," he spreads his remaining hand, giving him a double wink. "Had a bit of a run in with a Sontaran."

The words don't make sense. Henry doesn't care. He opens his arms and suddenly Peter is in them, a bit older, a bit queerer… but he still smells the same and kisses the spot on his neck that makes him laugh and cry at the same time. He buries his hands into that warm hair and weeps, hearing himself repeating the same words over and over, half sobs, half joy.

"How…why…"

"Oh, my darling Henry…" Peter says, resting them forehead to forehead and kissing him warmly and Henry drinks in the other man's tremulous smile. "I told you I'd be home for Christmas."


End file.
